THE QUEST OF THE FOUR (continued 4)

"Fortune rides on our cruppers so far," said Middleton. "We are on the side of the circle which yet has the open segment. Push on, my boys!"

Phil's knees involuntarily pressed against the side of his horse, and that strange sensation, like icy water running down the spine, came again. Those three lights speaking to one another in the darkness and across great distances were full of mystery and awe. But he rode without speech, and he looked most of the time at the lights, which remained fixed, as if what they said could not be changed.

Middleton, who was in advance, suddenly reined in his horse, and the others, stopping, also, noticed that just in front of them a depression ran across the plain.

"It's an arroyo or something like it," said Bill Breakstone, "but the wagons have crossed it anyhow."

They followed the trail to the other side and then saw that it continued almost parallel with the broad gully.

"Why shouldn't we take to the gully?" said Phil. "It has a smooth bottom, it is wide enough for us, riding two abreast, and it will give us shelter."

"A good idea," said Middleton.

They turned back into the arroyo, and found an easy road there. The banks were several feet high, and, as the dusk still hung on the plain, they increased their speed, counting each moment worth one man's life. They came soon to a place where the gully was shallower than usual, and then they saw two or three faint lights in the plain before them, apparently about a half mile away. Middleton raised a warning hand, and they stopped.

"Those are the lights of the train," he said. "They undoubtedly have scouts out, and of course they have seen the signals of the Comanches and the Mexicans, just as we have, but they do not know as much as we do. I think we had better go down the arroyo as far as we can, and then, if the alarm is sounded by our enemies, gallop for it."

"It iss our choice because there iss none other," said Arenberg.

They continued, but more slowly, in order to make as little noise as possible. They had covered more than half the distance when Phil saw a faint line of gray on the horizon line in the east. The next moment against the background of gray appeared a horseman, a man of olive skin, clad in sombrero, bright jacket, embroidered trousers, and boots with great spurs. He carried a weapon like a spear, and Phil knew at once that he was a Mexican lancer, no doubt a sentinel.

The man saw them, and, instead of attempting to use his lance, snatched a pistol from his belt and fired point blank. The bullet passed by Middleton's face, and, like a flash, Bill Breakstone replied with a bullet from his rifle. The Mexican went down, but from three points of the compass came cries, the shouts of the Mexicans and the long war whoop of the Comanches.

"Forward for your lives!" cried Middleton, and, dashing out of the arroyo, they galloped at full speed toward the wagon train.

CHAPTER IX

THE FIERY CIRCLE

The thin gray light in the east broadened into a bar as the hoofbeats of the four thundered over the plain. From left to right came shouts, the yells of the Indians and the fierce cries of the Mexicans.

"Bend low," cried Middleton, "and we may escape their bullets!"

Phil lay almost upon his horse's neck, but it was an unconscious act. He was thrilling with excitement, as the four horsemen almost clove the morning mist, and rode on swift hoofs straight toward the wagon train. Then came the rattling of rifles and whistling of arrows from either side. "Ping!" the bullets sang in his ear and "Ping!" the arrows sang, also. He remembered afterward that he wished, if he were hit at all, to be hit by a bullet instead of an arrow; an arrow sticking in one's flesh would be very cumbersome and painful. But neither arrow nor bullet struck true. Their ride was too sudden and swift, and the light too faint to permit good aim to the Mexicans and Comanches. Yet Phil heard confused sounds, shouted commands, and the noise of hurrying feet. He saw dark faces appearing in the mist on either side, and he also saw the outlines of wagons through the same mist in front. Then he saw men, rifle in hand, who seemed to rise out of the plain in front of the wagons. Two of the men raised their rifles and took aim at the galloping horsemen.

"We are friends, and we bring you warning!" shouted Middleton in a tremendous voice. "Don't fire upon us!"

But the men and three others who appeared near them pulled the trigger. Phil did not hear the ping of the bullets, and now he realized that they fired not at his comrades and himself but at those who pursued. A death-cry and yells of rage came from behind them, but in another minute they were within the line of sentinels and were springing from their horses, ready to take their part in the combat that they expected.

All the morning mists were driven away at that moment by the sun, as if a veil had been lifted, and the whole plain stood out clear and distinct under a brilliant sky. Before them were the wagons, drawn up in a circle in the customary fashion of a camp, the horses and mules in the center, and the men, arms in hand, forming an outer ring for the wagons. But from the northeast and the southeast two lines were converging upon them, and Phil's heart kindled at the sight.

The line in the northeast was made up of red horsemen, four hundred Comanches, naked to the waist, horribly painted, and riding knee to knee, the redoubtable chiefs, Santana and Black Panther, at their head. The line in the southeast was composed of Mexican cavalry, lancers splendidly mounted, the blades of their lances and their embroidered jackets glittering in the sun. They made their horses prance and cavort, and many in the first rank whirled lariats in derision.

A tall figure strolled forward and welcomed Middleton and his comrades. It was Woodfall, his face flushed somewhat, but his manner undaunted.

"I'm glad to welcome you back, Mr. Middleton," he said, "and with your comrades, all of them alive and well. But what does this mean? Why do those men ride to attack, when this is the soil of Texas?"

He waved his hand toward the advancing Mexican column.

"They advance against us," replied Middleton, "because this is war, war between the United States and Mexico--we learned that last night from one of their own officers--and there have been two heavy battles on the Rio Grande, both victorious for us."

It was not strange that a sudden cheer burst from the men who heard these words. Woodfall listened to it grimly, and, when it died, he said:

"Then if these Mexicans attack, we'll soon have a third victory to our credit. The Indian bow and the Mexican lance can't break through a circle of riflemen, entrenched behind wagons--riflemen who know how to shoot."

Again that defiant, even exultant cheer rose from the men who heard, and, passing on like a fire in dry grass, it rolled all around the circle of wagons. The Mexicans heard it. They detected the defiant note in it, and, wisely, they checked their speed. The column of Indian warriors also came more slowly. Philip Bedford, hardened in so brief a space to danger and war, did not feel any great fear, but the scene thrilled him like a great picture painted in living types and colors against the background of the earth. There were the red horsemen, the sun deepening the tints of their coppery faces and bringing out the glowing colors of their war bonnets. To the southeast the Mexican column, also, was a great ribbon of light lying across the plain, the broad blades of the lances catching the sun's rays and throwing them back in golden beams.

"A fine show," said Woodfall, "and if those Mexicans had two or three cannon they might wipe us out, but they haven't, and so we're lucky."

"I think I ought to tell you, Mr. Woodfall," said Middleton, "that I'm a captain in the regular army, Captain Middleton, and that I've been making use of your hospitality to find what forces the enemy had in these parts, and what movements he was making. I was sent by our government, and, as you see, I'm finding what I was sent to find."

"I thought there was something military about your cut, Captain," said Woodfall, "and it seems to me to be a good thing that you are with us. If we've helped you without knowing, then you, knowing it, can help us now."

The hands of the two men met in the strong clasp of friendship and trust.

"They're about to move," said Middleton, who practically took command. "I suggest that we go inside the circle of wagons now, and that at least two-thirds of our men devote their attention to the lancers. The Mexicans are brave; we must not forget that."

They went inside at once, where a few men were detailed to see that the horses and mules did not make too great a turmoil, while the rest posted themselves for defense. The wagons were in reality a formidable barrier for an attacking force that did not have artillery. The majority of the Americans lay down under the wagons between the wheels. Phil was under one of them with Bill Breakstone on one side of him and Arenberg on the other. Middleton was elsewhere with Woodfall.

"Much harm iss meant," said Arenberg, "and I would say to you, Philip, although little advice iss needed by you now, not to fire too soon, and to remember, when you take aim, to allow for the fact that they are coming toward us at a gallop."

"That's right," said Bill Breakstone. "Old Hans, here, knows."

"Ach," said Arenberg, uttering a sigh, "I love peace, and I never thought to have a part in cruel Indian and Mexican battles."

It occurred to Phil that the sigh had no reference to the coming combat. The German's face showed sadness, but not a trace of fear. He turned his gaze from Arenberg and fixed it upon the Mexican column which they were facing. He thought that he saw de Armijo in the front rank among the officers in brilliant dress, but he was not sure. The distance was too great. He wondered whether he would shoot at him, if he saw him later in the charge.

The sunlight was intensely bright, such as one sees only on great upland plains, and the Mexican lancers with their horses stood out, like carving, against the background of gold and blue. Phil saw the column suddenly quiver, as if a single movement ran through all. The lances were lifted a little higher, and their blades cast broader beams. A flag fluttered in the front rank and unfolded in the slight wind.

The notes of a trumpet sounded high and clear, the Mexicans uttered a long, fierce shout, the colors shifted and changed, like water flowing swiftly, as the column broke into a gallop and came straight toward the wagons, the plain thundering with the beat of their hoofs. From another part of the compass came a second cry, higher pitched, longer drawn, and with more of the whine of the wolf in it. Phil knew that it came from the Comanches, who were also charging, led by Black Panther and Santana, but he did not take his eyes from the Mexicans.

The two attacking columns began to fire scattering shots, but the defenders of the wagons had not yet pulled a trigger, although many a forefinger was trembling with eagerness.

"It's pretty, but it's a waste, a dead waste," said Bill Breakstone. "I hate to shoot at them, because I've no doubt many a brave young fellow is out there, but we've got to let them have it. Steady, Phil, steady! They're coming close now."

Suddenly they heard the loud shout, "Fire!" It was Middleton who uttered it, and everybody obeyed. A sheet of flame seemed to spurt from the wagons, and the air was filled with singing lead. The entire head of the Mexican column was burnt away. The ground was strewn with the fallen. Riderless horses, some wounded and screaming with pain, galloped here and there. The column stopped and seemed to be wavering. Several officers, sword in hand--and now Phil was sure that he saw de Armijo among them--were trying to urge the lancers on. All the Americans were reloading as fast as they could, and while the Mexicans yet wavered, they poured in a second volley. Unable to withstand it, the lancers broke and fled, bearing the officers away with them in their panic.

Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg crawled from under the wagon and stood on the outside, erect again. There they contemplated for a few moments the wreck that they and their comrades had made. From the Indian point of attack came the sound of retiring shots, and they knew that the Comanches had been quickly repulsed, also.

"It was one of the most foolish things I ever saw," said Bill Breakstone, "to ride right into the mouths of long-barreled, well-aimed rifles like ours. Their numbers didn't help them. What say you, Sir Philip of the Rifle and the Wagon?"

"It seems to me that you're right," replied the boy. "I don't think they'll charge again, nor will the Comanches."

"You're right, too; they've had enough."

The Mexicans and Comanches, having gathered up their wounded, united and remained in a dark cloud beyond rifle shot, apparently intending neither to charge again nor to go away. But the defenders of the train were cheerful. They had suffered no loss, being protected so well, and they were willing enough to meet a second attack delivered in the same fashion. But Middleton and Woodfall had hot coffee and tea served, and then with strong field glasses they observed the enemy.

"I believe they are in great doubt," said Middleton. "They may think they can starve us out, but the Mexicans will not want to wait for so long a process; it is likely that they will prefer going southward to join their main army."

He said these words aloud, where many could hear, but a little while afterward he and Woodfall drew to one side and talked a long time in low tones. Phil could tell by their faces that they were very earnest, and he felt sure that a proposition would be made before long. He called Breakstone's attention to them.

"You're right," said Bill, "they'll have something to say soon, and it will concern all of us. Ah, there comes the Cap--I mean the Captain--now, and he's going to make a speech."

Middleton sprang upon a wagon tongue, and, standing very quiet, looked slowly around the circle of defenders, all of whom bent their eyes upon him. They were a motley group, Americans mostly, but with a scattering of a dozen European nationalities among them. The majority of them were bareheaded, with necks and chests uncovered, and all were stained black or brown with a mixture of perspiration, dust, and burnt gunpowder. The majority of them were young, some but little older than Phil himself. They looked very curiously at Middleton as he stood upon the wagon pole. Already all knew that he was an officer in the regular army. In the distance hung the dark fringe of Mexicans and Comanches, but, for the moment, only the sentinels paid any attention to them.

"Men," cried Middleton, "you have beaten off the attack of the Mexicans and the Comanches, and you can do it again as often as they come! I know that, and so do you!"

He was stopped for a few seconds by a great cheer, and then he resumed:

"We can beat them off, but the road to Santa Fé has now become impossible. Moreover, the nation with which we are at war holds Santa Fé, and to go there would be merely to march into prison or worse. We can't turn back. You are not willing to go back to New Orleans, are you?"

"Never!" they cried in one voice.

Middleton smiled. He was appealing deftly to the pride of these men, and he had known the response before it came.

"Then if we can neither go on to Santa Fé nor turn back to New Orleans," he said, "we must either start to the north or to the south."

He was speaking now with the greatest fervor. His face flushed deeply, and they hung upon his words.

"To the north lies the wilderness," he said, "stretching away for thousands of miles to the Arctic Ocean. To the south there are plains reaching down to a river, broad, shallow, and yellow, and somewhere along that river armies are fighting, armies of our own people and armies of the Mexicans with whom we are now at war. Which way shall we go, north or south?"

"South!" was roared forth in one tremendous voice. Again Middleton smiled. Again he had known before it came the response that would be spoken.

"Then south it is," he said, "and we make for Taylor's army on the Rio Grande. You will find there a better market for what you carry in your wagons than you would have found at Santa Fé, and you're likely to find something else, also, that I know you won't shirk."

"Fighting!" roared forth that tremendous voice once more.

"Yes, fighting," said Middleton, as he sprang down from the pole and rejoined Woodfall.

"That was clever talk," said Bill Breakstone, "but he knew his ground before he sowed the seed. These are just the sort of lads who will be glad to go south to Taylor, breaking their way through any Mexicans or Indians who may get across their path.

"He said north

He said south,

What's the choice?

We spoke forth,

It was south,

With one voice.

And now, unless I'm mightily mistaken, we'll fare forth upon our journey, as the knights of old would say. This is a good camp for defense, but not for siege. It lacks water. You just watch, Phil, and you'll see a wrinkle or two in plains work worth knowing."

The men began to hitch the horses to the wagons, but they were interrupted in the task by a horseman who rode forth from the Mexican column, carrying a white handkerchief on the point of a lance. He was joined by two Indian chiefs riding on either side of him. Phil instantly recognized all three. The white man was Pedro de Armijo, and the Indians were Black Panther and Santana.

"They want a big talk," said Bill Breakstone. "I fear the Greeks bearing gifts, and also a lot of other people who smile at you while they hold daggers behind their backs, but I suppose our side will hear what they have to say."

Middleton and Woodfall were already mounting to ride forth, and Middleton beckoned to Phil.

"Come, Phil," he said. "They are three, and we should be three, also. You can call yourself the secretary of the meeting if you like."

Phil sprang eagerly upon his horse, proud of the privilege and the honor, and rode forth with them. The Mexican and the two Comanches were coming on slowly and gravely. Four hundred yards behind them, Mexicans and Indians, all on horseback, were now gathered in a broad dark line, sitting motionless and watching. Their three envoys sat on their horses midway between the hostile forces, and the three Americans, meeting them there, stopped face to face. De Armijo looked at Middleton and smiled slightly, ironically. His bearing was proud, and was evidently meant to be disdainful. One would have thought that he was a victor, receiving an embassy about to sue for peace. Middleton returned his gaze steadfastly, but his face expressed nothing. He looked once at Phil, and the boy thought he saw something singular in the glance, as if he impinged somehow upon the mind of the Mexican, but in a moment the look of de Armijo passed.

"I have come, Captain Middleton," said the young Mexican, "to save bloodshed, if you are willing to listen to reason. You will observe what forces have come against you. We have here a numerous body of Mexican cavalry, the finest in the world, and we have also the flower of the Comanche nation, the bravest of the Indian warriors. In victory, the Mexicans are humane and merciful, but the Indian nature is different. Excited and impassioned, it finds vent in terrible deeds. Therefore, as you are surrounded and cannot escape, we ask you to surrender now, and save the lives of your men."

It was hard for Phil to restrain an exclamation at this piece of presumption, but Middleton received it gravely. His face was still without expression. Nevertheless, his reply was barbed.

"Your demand seems inopportune, Lieutenant de Armijo," he replied. "You can scarcely have forgotten, since it occurred less than an hour ago, the defeat of both your cavalry and your Comanche allies. Perhaps we are unduly confident, but we feel that we can do so again, as often as needed."

De Armijo frowned. He glanced at his Indian comrades. Phil wondered if he had been deceiving them with promises of what the invincible Mexican lancers could and would do. But the two savages made no response. Their coppery faces did not move.

"Thus, then, is your final answer, Captain Middleton," said de Armijo.

"It is," replied Middleton. "It is not the custom for victors to surrender. So we bid you good day, Lieutenant de Armijo."

As he spoke, he saluted and turned his horse. Woodfall and Phil saluted and turned with him. The Mexican returned the salute with a gloved hand, but the Indians turned stolidly without a sign. Then the two parties rode away in opposite directions, each to its own men. Phil dismounted at the wagons, and was met by Breakstone and Arenberg with eager questions.

"What did that yellow Mex. want, Sir Philip of the Council?" asked Breakstone.

"As he has just given us such a severe thrashing," replied Phil, "he demanded our immediate and unconditional surrender. He said that if we acceded to this demand only one-tenth of us would be shot, but he made it a special condition that a renowned scout, sharpshooter, white warrior, and talker, one William Breakstone, be shot first and at once, as a terrible example, in the presence of both victor and vanquished. Immediately after him one Hans Arenberg, a very dangerous and blood-thirsty man, was to share the same fate. If we refused this gentle alternative, we were all to be killed, and then scalped by the savages."

"Of course, Sir Philip," said Bill Breakstone, "they've put a just value on me, but I surmise that the jest doth leap from your nimble tongue. Now the truth!"

"De Armijo and the Indian chiefs did really demand our surrender," said Phil. "They said we could not escape. They talked as if they were the victors and we the beaten."

"Now, by my troth, that is a merry jest!" exclaimed Bill Breakstone. "When do we lay down our arms? Is it within the next five minutes, or do we even take fifteen?"

"You can surrender if you want to, Bill," said Phil, "but nobody else has any notion of doing so. The rest, I think, are going to march southward at once, Mexicans or no Mexicans, Comanches or no Comanches."

"Well spoken," said Bill Breakstone, "and I will even help in the march."

A roar that might easily have been called a shout of defiance came from the men of the train, when the story of the council was told. Then, with increased zeal, they fell to the work of girding up for the march and battle. The insolent demand of de Armijo added new fire to their courage. Cheerful voices arose, the rattle of bridle-bits, the occasional neigh of a horse, men singing snatches of song, generally lines from sentimental ballads, and the clink of bullets as they were counted and dropped into their pouches. Some of these sounds were of war, but Phil found the whole effect buoyant and encouraging. He caught the spirit, and whistled a lilting air as he, too, worked by the side of Bill Breakstone.

The boy soon saw the plan. Gradually the circle of wagons formed itself into two parallel lines, the noses of the horses or mules almost touching the rear of the wagon in front of them. Outside and on either side, but close to the wagons, rode the armed horsemen, two formidable lines, who, if hard pressed, could take refuge and shelter between the parallel rows of wagons. Moreover, the wagons handled by such cool and skillful men could be turned in a crisis, and even under fire, into a circle again, with the animals in the center. Phil understood the arrangement thoroughly, admired it tremendously, and was sure that the master mind of Middleton had directed everything. He glanced at the Mexicans and Comanches. They were still hovering in a great dark mass about a thousand yards away, and Phil knew that they were watching every movement of the Americans with the most intense curiosity.

Middleton and Woodfall rode to the head of the train. The loud command: "March!" was given. Every driver cracked his whip at the same time, the whole making a report like the sudden crash of many rifles, and the train began to move slowly across the plain, every armed man on either side holding his finger on the trigger of his rifle.

Phil was just behind Bill Breakstone, and both of them looked back at the enemy. Phil wondered what the Mexicans and Comanches would do, but he did not believe they would allow the train to depart unmolested, despite the fact that their face had already been well burned. He saw the hostile columns advance at about an even pace with the train, but he judged that there was uncertainty in their ranks. The Americans bore a certain resemblance to a modern armored train, and such men as de Armijo, Black Panther, and Santana were wary, despite their great excess of numbers.

The train moved forward at a slow but steady pace, but now its head was turned almost due south instead of west. Before them rolled the plains as usual, green with a grass not yet dried by the summer suns. Here and there appeared strange flowering shrubs, peculiar to the Texas uplands, but no trees broke the view. The plains rolled away until they died under the horizon of reddish gold that seemed an interminable distance away. There was little sound now but that of the turning wheels, the creaking of the axles, and the hoofbeats of many scores of horses and mules. The men were almost completely silent, and this silence, in itself, was strange, because the very atmosphere was impregnated with war. At any moment they might be in deadly conflict; yet they rode on, saying nothing.

Behind them came the Mexicans and Comanches in a double column, preserving the same distance of about a thousand yards, they, too, riding in silence, save for their hoofbeats. The dead evidently had been left as they fell or put in hasty graves, while the wounded were carried on horses in the rear. Phil looked back again and again at this singular pursuit, which, for the present, seemed no pursuit at all--at least, not hostile. It reminded him of the silent but tenacious manner in which wolves followed a great deer. While fearing his antlers and sharp hoofs, they would hang on and hang on, and in the end would drag down the quarry. Would that be the fate of the train?

"It's pretty good country for traveling," said Bill Breakstone cheerily, "and I don't see that anything is interrupting us. Except that we pass over one swell after another, the road is smooth and easy. What fine grassy plains these are, Phil, and look! yonder are antelopes grazing to the north of us. They've raised their heads to see, if they can, what we are, and what is that crowd behind us. They're just eaten up with curiosity."

Phil saw the herd of antelope come nearer. They were on a swell, in black silhouette against a red sun, and they were exaggerated to three or four times their real size. Phil was something of a philosopher, and he reflected that they were safe in the presence of so many men, because the men were not seeking game, but one another. The train moved on, and the herd of antelope dropped behind and out of sight. Still there was no demonstration from the enemy, who yet came on, in two columns, at the same distance of about a thousand yards, the sunlight gleaming on the lances of both Mexicans and Comanches. It began to seem to Phil as if they would always continue thus. Nevertheless, it was hard on the nerves, this incessant watching, as if one were guarding against a beast that might spring at any moment. Moreover, their force looked so large. But Phil glanced at the long-barreled rifles that the men of the train carried. They had proved far more than a match for muskets and lances.

"Will they attack us?" he asked Arenberg.

"Much harm iss meant," replied the German, "but they will not seek to do it until they think they see a chance. It iss time only that will tell."

The extraordinary march lasted all day. Neither side committed a single hostile act, and the silence, so far as the men were concerned, was unbroken. The distance of about a thousand yards was preserved, but the Mexicans and Comanches were still there, and it seemed that they did not intend to be shaken off. About sunset they came to one of the shallow prairie streams, this time a mere brook, but with plenty of water for their animals.

"Here we camp," said Bill Breakstone, and almost as he spoke Middleton gave the word. One line of wagons went forward, the other stopped, the two ends joined, and then they swung around in a circle, with the stream flowing down the center of the enclosure. It was all done with so much celerity and so little trouble that the Mexicans and Comanches seemed to be taken by surprise. A few of them rode nearer, and some of the Comanches fired arrows, but they fell far short, and the Americans paid no attention to them.

"We'll take a bite and a drink, Phil," said Bill Breakstone, "a bite of cold meat and a drink of cold water."

"It iss good," said Arenberg. "That iss what we will do."

They had no fuel with which to light fires, but there were lanterns carrying candles in the train, and these were hung on the sides of the wagons facing the inner ring, casting a pleasant light on the men as they passed. But Phil and his two comrades, food in hand, went outside.

"Hope it won't come on too dark," said Breakstone. "A thick night is what we've got to dread. If our friends out there mean to do anything, they'll try it to-night, or I'm mightily fooled."

In the east, where the enemy hung, the twilight had come already and now both Mexicans and Comanches were blurring with the darkness. A lance blade or two gave back a last flash of fire from the setting sun, but in a few more instants the rays ceased to reach them, and they sank into the night of the eastern plain.

"Feels damp, and that's bad," said Bill Breakstone. "Clouds mean a thick night, and a thick night means a lot of stalking and sniping by those rascals out there. Well, well, lay on, Macduff, and it won't be we who will first cry, 'Hold, enough!'"

The twilight soon deepened into dark, the wind rose a little, and, as Breakstone had feared, it brought with it shifts of rain, light showers only, but cold and very unpleasant. Only a few of the most hardened slept. All the others kept vigilant watch about the wagons. Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg remained together, and nothing happened until nearly midnight. Then the mixed force of the enemy, creeping near, opened fire from every side, but the American sharpshooters lying down on the ground replied, firing at the flashes. This combat lasted nearly half an hour, and it was more spectacular than dangerous to the defenders.

"This is drawn out rather long and produces nothing, Sir Philip of the Midnight, the Wilderness, and the Rain," said Bill Breakstone, "and with our long range rifles we have the advantage. They're merely wasting good lead. Ah, I think I must have got that fellow! I hope it was one of those sneaking Comanches, and, if so, he deserves it for keeping me here on the ground in the rain, when I ought to be snoozing comfortably in a wagon."

He had fired at a flash about a hundred yards away, and his own fire drew shots from different points. Phil heard bullets whistling over his head, but, as they were hugging the earth very closely, he did not feel any great alarm over such blind shooting.

The firing increased a little presently, and now its effect upon the boy was wholly spectacular. He watched for the points of flame as one would for fireworks. Sometimes the flashes looked blue, sometimes yellow, and sometimes red. At other times they showed variations and new combinations of all three colors.

"Since one has to watch, it's rather pretty, and it breaks the monotony," said Bill Breakstone. "Now, I think our little display of fireworks is ceasing."

Bill was a good prophet, because the firing quickly sank to a few scattered shots, and then to nothing. After that, they lay in the darkness and silence for a long time. Phil was wet and cold, and he longed for a warm blanket and the shelter of a wagon, but he was not one to flinch. As long as those two skilled plainsmen, Breakstone and Arenberg, thought it necessary to remain, he would remain without a complaint. He also expected that some other hostile movement would be made.

At some late hour of the night the boy heard the rapid beat of many hoofs, and then a mass of horsemen showed dimly in the dusk, dark squadrons galloping down upon the train. But the riflemen were ready. The train became at once a living circle of fire. A storm of bullets beat upon the charging horsemen, and fifty yards from the barrier they halted. There they wavered a few moments, while wounded horses screamed with pain, then turned and galloped back as fast as they had come.

"That's the fall of the curtain on the last act," said Bill Breakstone. "They thought to catch us napping, to stampede our horses, or to do something else unpleasant to us that depended on surprise."

Nevertheless, they watched all the remainder of the night, and Phil was devoutly glad when he saw the first touch of rose in the east, the herald of the new day. Before them the plain lay clear, except a fallen horse near by, and there was no sign of the enemy.

"They have had enough," said Bill Breakstone. "The darkness offered them their only chance, and now the sunrise has put them to flight.

"Night,

Fight.

Sun,

Done.

"That's a short poem, Phil, one of the shortest that I've ever composed, but it's highly descriptive, and it's true."

It was true. Middleton and Woodfall, even when they searched the entire circle of the horizon with powerful field glasses, could find no trace of the enemy.

CHAPTER X

PHIL'S LETTER

Now began the great march. The whole train was filled with an extraordinary animation. South to Taylor! South to the Rio Grande! South to join the forlorn hope against the Mexican masses! It appealed to them more than Santa Fé had ever appealed. Wild spirits, thrilling with the love of adventure and the hope of battle, they had before them the story of Texas and its gallant and victorious stand against overwhelming numbers. They knew every detail of that desperate and successful struggle, and they felt that they could do as well. Indeed, among them were some who had been mere boys at San Jacinto, and they began to talk of Sam Houston and that glorious war, of Goliad and of the Alamo, when the last man fell.

But while they talked they worked. In their zeal and enthusiasm they forgot that not one man in ten had closed his eyes the night before, and, a half hour after the brief breakfast was finished, they started again. It was a long journey, but they were prepared for it, and they moved steadily onward all through the day. Two or three times single horsemen were seen through the field glasses, but they were so far away none could tell whether they were Indians or Mexicans. Middleton, however, was firmly convinced that they would not be attacked again, at least not by the same forces which had been making so much trouble for them.

"There isn't much profit in hunting us," he said, "we are too difficult game, and the hunter has suffered more damage than the hunted. Moreover, de Armijo will want to join the main Mexican army near the Rio Grande. More glory is to be won there, and, if I mistake not, he is an exceedingly ambitious man. But the Comanches will leave so formidable a foe to snap up wandering hunters or small parties."

Middleton's theory seemed probable, but they did not relax the watch. That night half the men stood guard until midnight, and the other half until morning. The whole night passed in complete peace. There was not a single shot at the sentinels. The only sounds they heard were the lonesome howls of coyotes far out on the plain. Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg were in the first watch, and they walked back and forth together in a little segment of the circle about thirty yards from the wagons. They talked more than usual, as they shared in the general belief that there would be no further attack, at least, not yet.

The night, in truth, was in sharp contrast with the one that had preceded it. There was no rain and no wind, the sky was just a peaceful blue, cut by the white belt of the Milky Way, and with the great stars dancing in myriad pools of light. Strife and battle seemed far away and forgotten.

"It will take us a long time to reach General Taylor on the Rio Grande or beyond, where he iss likely to be," said Arenberg.

"A couple of months, maybe," said Breakstone.

"And then," continued Arenberg, "we do not know how long we will have to stay there. We do not know what great battles we will have to fight, and if we live through it all it may be a year, two years, until we can come back into the North."

"Not so long as that, I think," replied Breakstone.

Phil noticed Arenberg's melancholy tone, and once more he wondered what this man's quest might be. Evidently it did not lie to the south, for to him alone the turning from the old course had caused pain. He could not keep from showing sympathy.

"I feel that all of us will come back sooner or later, Mr. Arenberg," he said, "and we will go on in the way we chose first, and to success."

The German put his hand affectionately on the boy's shoulder.

"There are no prophets in these days," he said, "but now and then there iss a prophecy that comes true, and it may be that our God puts it in the mouth of a boy like you, instead of that of an older man. You strengthen my weak faith, Philip."

His tone was so solemn and heartfelt that the other two were silent. Surely the motive that drew Arenberg into the wilderness was a most powerful one! They could not doubt it. They walked without saying more until it was twelve when Bill Breakstone dropped his rifle from his shoulder with a great sigh of relief.

"It's just occurred to me that I haven't slept a wink for thirty-six hours," he said, "and I'm going to make up for lost time as soon as I can."

"Me, too," said Phil.

"Much sleep iss meant by me, also," said Arenberg.

Phil concluded to sleep in a wagon that night, and, in order to enjoy the full luxury of rest, he undressed for the first time in several days. Then he found a soft place in some bags of meal, covered himself with a blanket, and shut his eyes.

He had a wonderful sense of safety and comfort. After so much hardship and danger, this was like a king's bed, and the royal guards were outside to keep away harm. It was extraordinary how some sacks of flour and an army blanket could lull one's senses into golden ease.

He heard a few noises outside, a sentinel exchanging a word with another, the stamp of a restless horse's hoof, and then, for the last time, the long, lonesome howl of the coyote. A minute after that he was asleep. When he awoke the next day he felt that he was moving. He heard the cracking of whips and the sound of many voices. He sprang up, lifted the edge of the wagon cover, and looked out. There was the whole train, moving along at its steady, even pace, and a yellow sun, at least four hours high, was sailing peacefully in blue heavens. Phil, ashamed of himself, hurried on his clothes and sprang out of his wagon at the rear. The first man he saw was Bill Breakstone, who was walking instead of riding.

"Bill," he exclaimed indignantly, "here I've been sleeping all the morning, while the rest of you fellows have been up and doing!"

"Don't you worry yourself, Sir Philip of the Wagon and the Great Sleep," replied Bill Breakstone grinning. "A good wilderness rover rests when he can, and doesn't rest when he can't. Now you could rest, and it was the right thing for you to do. I haven't been up myself more than half an hour, while Captain Middleton and Arenberg are still asleep. Now, my merry young sir, I hope that will satisfy you."

"It does," replied Phil, his conscience satisfied, "and between you and me, Bill, it seems to me that we have come out of our troubles so far mighty well."

"We have," replied Bill Breakstone emphatically. "The curtain has gone down on act one, with honest and deserving fellows like you and myself on top. Act two hasn't begun yet, but meanwhile the winds blow softly, the air is pure, and we'll enjoy ourselves."

"Have you seen anything of our Comanche and Mexican friends?"

"Not a peep. We're marching in looser order now, because if they came we'd have ample time to form in battle array after we saw them."

But no enemy appeared that day nor the next day, and they rode south for many days in peace. Although eager to reach the Rio Grande as soon as possible, they were too wise to hurry the animals. The steady, measured pace was never broken, and they took full rest at night. They stopped sometimes to kill game and replenish their supplies of food. They found plenty of buffalo, and the most skillful of the hunters also secured all the antelope that they wished. Now and then they crossed a river that contained fish, and they added to their stores from these, also.

They were now far into the summer, but the grass was still green, although the heat at times was great, and rain fell but seldom. The character of the vegetation changed as they went south. Bill Breakstone defined it as an increase of thorns. The cactus stood up in strange shapes on the plain, but along the banks of the creeks they found many berries that were good to the taste. Four weeks after the turn to the south they met two messengers coming from the direction of Santa Fé and bound for the mouth of the Rio Grande. They were American soldiers in civilian dress whom Middleton knew, and with whom it had evidently been a part of his plan to communicate. He received from them important news, over which he pondered long, but, some time after the two men had disappeared under the horizon to the eastward, he spoke of it to Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg.

"They have heard much," he said, "but it comes largely through Mexican channels. It is said that an American force from one of the Western States is moving on Santa Fé, and that it is likely to fall into our hands. It is said, also, that Taylor's advance into Mexico has been stopped, and that another army under Scott is to go by sea to Vera Cruz, and thence attempt to capture the City of Mexico. I don't know! I don't know what it all means! Can it be possible that Taylor has been beaten and driven back? But we shall see!"

"I know Taylor can't have been beaten," said Phil; "but I'll be mighty glad when we reach the Rio Grande and find out for sure everything that is going on."

"That's so," said Bill Breakstone.

"News is contrary,

But we'll go;

Our views vary,

But we'll know.

Although we'll have to wait a long time about it, as Texas runs on forever."

The tenor of the messages soon spread through the train, and increased the desire to push on; yet neither Middleton nor Woodfall deemed it wise to give the animals too great a task for fear of breaking them down. Instead, they resolutely maintained their even pace, and bearing now to the eastward, still sought that Great River of the North which is greater in history and political importance than it is in water.

The time, despite the anxieties that they all shared, was not unpleasant to Phil. He enjoyed the free life of the wilderness and the vast plains. He saw how men were knitted together by common hardship and common danger. He knew every man and liked them all; hence, all liked him. He could never meet one of them in after life without a throb of emotion, a sense of great fellowship, and a sudden vivid picture of those days rising before him. He also learned many things that were of value. He knew how to mend any part of a wagon, he understood the troubles of horses, and he could handle a mule with a tact and skill that were almost uncanny.

"I suppose that mules, being by nature contrary animals, like Phil," said Bill Breakstone. "I've always behaved decently toward them, but I never knew one yet to like me."

"You want to treat a mule not like an animal but like a human being," said Arenberg. "They know more than most men, anyhow. It iss all in the way you approach them. I know how it ought to be done, although I can't always do it."

Many such talks beguiled the way. Meanwhile Phil could fairly feel himself growing in size and strength, and he longed like the others for the sight of Taylor and his army. The idea of taking part in a great war thrilled him, and it might also help him in his search. Meanwhile, the summer waned, and they were still in Texas. It seemed that they might ride on forever and yet not reach that famous Rio Grande. The grass turned brown on the plains, the nights grew cooler, and two northers chilled them to the bone. Several times they saw Comanches hovering like tiny black figures against the horizon, but they never came near enough for a rifle shot. Twice they met hunters and scouts who confirmed the earlier news obtained from the two messengers from the westward. Taylor, beyond a doubt, had halted a hundred and fifty or two hundred miles beyond the Rio Grande. There was even a rumor that he had been captured. This might or might not be true, but there was no doubt of the fact that an advance on the City of Mexico, due southward by land, was no longer intended. The report that Scott was to lead the army by way of Vera Cruz was confirmed. Middleton was troubled greatly, as Phil could see.

"I don't like the looks of this," he confided to his three most intimate associates, who, of course, were Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg. "I can't believe that Taylor has been taken--he isn't that kind of a man--but this stripping him of his forces to strengthen Scott will leave him almost unarmed before a powerful enemy."

Phil saw the cogency of his reasoning. Deeply patriotic, his private motives could not rule him wholly in the face of such an emergency. He longed with a most intense longing now for a sight of the Rio Grande. A great battle often hung in such an even balance that a few men might turn the scale. The brave and resolute two hundred with the train were a force not to be despised, even where thousands were gathered. The leaders, also felt the impulse. Despite caution and calculation, the speed of the train was increased. They started a little earlier every morning, and they stopped a little later every evening. Yet there were delays. Once they had a smart skirmish with Mexican guerillas, and once a Comanche force, which did little but distant firing, held them three days. Then a large number of their animals, spent by the long march, fell sick, and they were compelled to delay again.

The summer waned and passed. The grass was quite dead above ground, although the roots flourished below. The cactus increased in quantity. Often it pointed long melancholy arms southward as if to indicate that misfortune lay that way. The great silence settled about them again. There were no Indians, no Mexicans, no scouts, no hunters. Phil's thoughts reverted to his original quest. One day as he sat in the wagon he took the worn paper from the inside pocket of his waistcoat and read it for the thousandth time. He was about to hold it up and put it back in its resting place, when Bill Breakstone, seeking an hour or so of rest, sprang into the wagon, also. It was Phil's first impulse to thrust the paper quickly out of sight, and Bill Breakstone, with innate delicacy, pretended not to see, merely settling himself, with a cheerful word or two, into a comfortable seat. But Phil's second thought was the exact opposite. He withheld his hand and opened the worn and soiled paper.

"This is a letter, Bill," he said, "and you've seen it."

"At a distance," replied Bill Breakstone with assumed carelessness. "Too far for me to read a word of it. Love letter of yours, Phil? You're rather young for that sort of thing. Still, I suppose I'll have to call you Sir Philip of the Lost Lady and the Broken Heart."

"It's not that," said Phil. "This letter tells why I came into the Southwest. Somehow, I've wanted to keep it to myself, but I don't now. Will you read it, Bill? It's hard to make out some of the words, but if you look close you can tell."

He reached out the worn piece of paper.

"Not unless you feel that you really want me to read it," said Breakstone.

"I really want you to do so," said Phil.

Breakstone took the paper in his hands and smoothed it out. Then he held it up to the light, because the writing was faded and indistinct, and deciphered:

"I'm here, Phil, in this stone prison--it must be some sort of an old Spanish castle, I think, in the Mexican mountains. We were blindfolded and we traveled for days, so I can't tell you where I am. But I do know that we went upward and upward, and, when my shoes wore out, rocks sharp like steel cut into my feet. We also crossed many deep gulleys and ravines. I think we went through a pass. Then we came down into ground more nearly level. My feet were bleeding. We passed through a town and we stopped by a well. Then a woman gave me a cup of water. My throat was parched with dust. I knew it was a woman by her voice and her words of pity, spoken in Mexican. Then we came here. I have been shut up in a cell. I don't know how long, because I've lost count of time. But I'm here, Phil, between four narrow walls, with a narrow window that looks out on a mountainside, where I can see scrub pines and the thorny cactus. You're growing up now, Phil, and you may be able to come with friends for me. There's one here that's kind to me, the old woman who brings me my food, and she's loaned me a pencil and paper to write this. I've written the letter, and she's going to smuggle it away somehow northward into Texas, and then it may be passed on to you. I'm hoping, Phil, that it will reach you, wherever you are. If it does I know that you will try to come. JOHN BEDFORD."

"Look on the other side," said Phil.

Bill Breakstone turned it over and read the inscription:

"To Philip Bedford, Esquire, "Paris, "Kentucky."

Tears stood in the boy's eyes, and his hands were trembling. Breakstone waited quietly.

"As you see," said Phil, when he felt that his voice was steady, "the letter came. It's my brother, John, who wrote it. A man riding across the country from Frankfort gave it to me in Paris last year. A flatboatman had brought it up the Kentucky River from its mouth at the Ohio, and when he came to Frankfort he asked if anybody would take it to Paris. A dozen were ready to do it. The flatboatman--his name was Simmons, a mountaineer--knew nothing about the letter. He said it had been given to him at the mouth of the Ohio by a man on a steamer from New Orleans. The other man said it had been dropped in front of him on his table at an inn in New Orleans by a fellow who looked like a Mexican. He thought at first it was just a scrap of paper, but when he read it and looked around for the man, he was gone. He resolved to send the letter on to me if he could, but he doesn't know how many hands it had passed through before it reached him. But it's John's handwriting. I could never mistake it."

The boy's voice trembled now, and the tears rose in his eyes again. Breakstone looked at the paper, turning it over and over.

"The old woman that your brother writes about was faithful," he said at last. "Likely a dozen men or women had it before it was dropped on that table in New Orleans. What was your brother doing in Texas, Phil?"

"He was older than I, and he went to Texas to help in the fighting against Mexico. You know there were raids on both sides long after San Jacinto. You remember the Mier expedition of the Texans, and there were others like it. John and his comrades were taken in one of these, but I don't know exactly which. I have written letters to all the Texas officials, but none of them know anything."

"And of course you started at once," said Bill Breakstone.

"Of course. There was nothing to keep me. We were only two, and I sold what we had, came down the Kentucky into the Ohio, and then down the Mississippi to New Orleans, where I met you and the others. I had an idea that John had been carried westward, and that I might learn something about him at Santa Fé, or at least that Santa Fé might be a good point from which to undertake a search. It's all guesswork anyway, that is, mostly, but when de Armijo told us that war had come I wasn't altogether sorry, because I knew that would take us down into Mexico, where I would have a better chance to look for John. What do you think of it, Bill?"

"Let me look at the letter again," said Breakstone.

Phil handed it back to him, and he read and reread it, turned it over and over again, looked at the inscription, "To Philip Bedford, Paris, Kentucky," and then tried to see writing where none was.

"It's the old business of a needle in a haystack, Phil," he said. "We're bound to confess that. We don't know where this letter was written nor when. Your brother, as he says, had lost count of time, but he might have made a stagger at a date."

"If he had put down any," said Phil, "it was rubbed out before it reached me. But I don't think it likely that he even made a guess. Do you know, Bill, I'm afraid that maybe, being shut up in a place like that, it might, after a long time--well, touch his head just a little. To be shut up in a cell all by yourself for a year, maybe two years, or even more, is a terrible thing, they say."

"Don't think that! Don't think it!" said Bill Breakstone hastily. "The letter doesn't sound as if it were written by one who was getting just a little bit out of tune. Besides, I'm thinking it's a wonderful thing that letter got to you."

"I've thought of that often, myself," exclaimed Phil, a sudden light shining in his eyes. "This is a message, a call for help. It comes out of nowhere, so to speak, out of a hidden stone castle or prison, and in some way it reaches me, for whom it was intended. It seems to me that the chances were a million to one against its coming, but it came. It came! That's the wonderful, the unforgettable thing! It's an omen, Bill, an omen and a sign. If this little paper with the few words on it came to me through stone walls and over thousands of miles, well, I can go back with it to the one who sent it!"

His face was transfigured, and for the time absolute confidence shone in his eyes. Bill Breakstone, a man of sympathetic heart, caught the enthusiasm.

"We'll find him, Phil! We'll find him," he exclaimed.

Philip Bedford, so long silent about this which lay nearest to his heart, felt that a torrent of words was rushing to his lips.

"I can't tell you, Bill," he said, "how I felt when that letter was handed to me. Jim Harrington, a farmer who knew us, brought it over from Frankfort. He was on his horse when he met me coming down the street, and he leaned over and handed it to me. Of course he had read it, as it wasn't in an envelope, and he sat there on his horse looking at me, while I read it, although I didn't know that until afterward.

"Bill, I was so glad I couldn't speak for awhile. We hadn't heard from John in two or three years, and we were all sure that he was dead. After I read the letter through, I just stood there, holding it out in my hand and looking at it. Then I remember coming back to earth, when Jim Harrington leaned over to me from his saddle and said: 'Phil, is it genuine?'

"'It's real,' I replied, 'I'd know his handwriting anywhere in the world.'

"'What are you going to do, Phil?' he asked.

"'I'm going to start for Mexico to-morrow,' I said.

"'It's a powerful risky undertaking,' he said.

"'I'm going to start for Mexico to-morrow,' I said again.

"Then from his height on the horse he put his hand on my head for a moment and said: 'I knew you'd go, Phil. I know the breed. I was in the War of 1812 with your father, when we were boys together. You're only a boy yourself, but you go to Mexico, and I believe you'll find John.'

"So you see, Bill, even at the very start there was one who believed that I would succeed."

"The signs do point that way," admitted Bill Breakstone. "Every fact is against you, but feeling isn't. I've lived long enough, Phil, to know that the impossible happens sometimes, particularly when a fellow is striving all his might and main to make it happen. What kind of a fellow was this brother of yours, Phil?"

"The finest in the world," replied Phil. "He raised me, Bill, as they say up there in Kentucky. He is four years older than I am, and we were left orphans, young. He taught me about everything I know, helped me at school, and then, when I got big enough, we made traps together, and in the fall and winter caught rabbits. Then I had a little gun, and he showed me how to shoot squirrels. We went fishing in the Kentucky often, and he taught me to ride, too. He was big and strong. Although only a boy himself, he could throw anybody in all the towns about there, but he was so good-natured about it that the men he threw liked him. Then we began to hear about Texas. Everybody was talking about Texas. Many were going there, too. It seemed to us the most wonderful country on earth. John caught the fever. He was going to make fortunes for both of us. I don't know how, but he meant to do it. I wasn't big enough to go with him, but he would send for me later. He went down the river to New Orleans. I had a letter from him there, and another from San Antonio, but nothing ever came after that until this dirty, greasy little piece of paper dropped out of the skies. It was four years between."

"Four years between!" repeated Bill Breakstone, "and we don't know what has happened in all that time. But it seems to me, Phil, that you're right. If this little piece of paper has come straight out of the dark thousands of miles to you, then it's going to be a guide to us back to the place where it started, because, Phil, I'm going to help you in this. I've got a secret errand of my own, and I'm not going to tell it to you just yet, but it can wait. I'm going to see you through, Phil, and we're going to find that brother John of yours, if we have to rip open every prison in Mexico."

His own eyes were bright now with the light of enthusiasm, and he held out his hand, which Phil seized. The fingers of the two were compressed in a strong clasp.

"It's mighty good of you, Bill," said the boy, "to help me, because this isn't going to be any easy search."

"It won't be any search at all for awhile," said Bill Breakstone, "because a great war is shoving in between. We are approaching the Rio Grande now, Phil."

The summer was now gone, and they were well into autumn. The train had come a great distance, more miles than any of them could tell. Cool winds blew across the Texas uplands, and the nights were often sharp with cold. Then the fires of cottonwood, dry cactus, or buffalo chips were very welcome, and it was pleasant to sit before them and speculate upon what awaited them on the other side of the Rio Grande. They had passed beyond the domain of the Comanches, and they were skirting along the edge of a country that contained scattered houses of adobe or log cabins--Mexicans in the former, and Americans in the latter. These were not combatants, but they were full of news and gossip.

There had been a revolution or something like it in Mexico. The report of the American successes, at the beginning, was true. Taylor had defeated greatly superior numbers along the Rio Grande, and, after a severe battle, had taken Monterey by storm. Then the Mexicans, wild with rage, partly at their own leaders, had turned out Paredes, their president, and the famous Santa Anna had seized the power. Santa Anna, full of energy and Latin eloquence, was arousing the Mexican nation against invasion, and great numbers were gathering to repel the little American armies that had marched across the vast wilderness to the Mexican border. This news made Middleton very serious, particularly that about Santa Anna.

"He's been called a charlatan, a trickster, cruel, unscrupulous, and many other things not good," he said one evening as they sat about a fire, "and probably all the charges are true, but at the same time he is a man of great ability. He has intuition, the power to divine the plans of an opponent, something almost Napoleonic, and he also has fire and energy. He will be a very dangerous man to us. He hates us all the more because the Texans took him at San Jacinto. If I remember rightly, two boys looking for stray mules found him hiding in the grass the day after the battle, and brought him in a prisoner. Such a man as he is not likely to forget such a humiliation as that."

"I have seen him with my own eyes," said Arenberg. "He iss a cruel man but an able one. Much harm iss meant, and much may be done."

That ended the German's comment, and, taking his pipe, he smoked and listened. But his face, lighted up by the flames, was sad. It was habitually sad, although Phil believed that the man was by nature cheery and optimistic. But Arenberg still kept his secret.

They learned, also, that there had been an armistice between the Americans and the Mexicans, but that Santa Anna had used all the time for preparations. Then the negotiations were broken off, and the war was to pass into a newer and fiercer phase. Taylor was at Saltillo, about two hundred miles beyond the line, but Scott, who had been on the Rio Grande some time earlier, had taken most of his good officers and troops for the invasion by way of Vera Cruz, and Taylor, with his small remaining force, was expected to stand on the defensive, even to retreat to the Rio Grande. Instead of that, he had advanced boldly into the mountains. Politics, it was said, had intervened, and Taylor was to be shelved. Middleton, usually reserved, commented on this to Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg, who, he knew, would not repeat his words.

"I've no doubt that this news is true," he said, "and it must be a bitter blow to old Rough and Ready--that's what we call Taylor in the army. He's served all his life with zeal and efficiency, and now he's to be put aside, after beginning a successful and glorious campaign. It's a great wrong that they're doing to Zachary Taylor."

"But we're going to join him anyhow, are we not?" asked Phil.

"Yes, that's our objective. I should have to do so, because my original instructions were to report to him, and they have not been changed. And, with Santa Anna leading the Mexicans, what our Government expects to happen at one place may happen at another."

The train itself was now in splendid condition. All the wounded men had fully recovered. The sick horses and mules were well again. The weather had been good, game was plentiful, their diet was varied and excellent, and there was no illness. Moreover, their zeal increased as they drew near the seat of war, and the reports, some true, some false, and all lurid, came thick and fast. It was hard to keep some of them from leaving the train and going on ahead, but Middleton and Woodfall, by strenuous efforts, held them in hand.

They shifted back now toward the east, and came at last to the Rio Grande. Phil was riding ahead of the train, when he caught the first view of it--low banks, an immense channel, mostly of sand, with water, looking yellow and dangerous, flowing here and there in two or three streams. The banks were fringed but sparsely with trees, and beyond lay Mexico, the Mexico of Cortez and the Aztecs, the Mexico of gold and romance, and the Mexico of the lost one whom he had come so far to find.

It was one of the most momentous events in Philip Bedford's life, this view of Mexico, to which he had come over such a long trail. It was not beautiful, there across the Rio Grande; it was bare, dark, and dusty, with rolling hills and the suggestion of mountains far off to the right. The scant foliage was deep in autumn brown. Human life there was none. Nothing stirred in the vast expanse of desolation. The train was so far behind him that he did not hear the rumbling of the wagon wheels, and he sat there, horse and rider alike motionless, gazing into the misty depths of this Mexico which held so much of mystery and which attracted and repelled at the same time. Question after question throbbed through his mind. Would the Americans succeed in penetrating the mountains that lay beyond? And if so, in what direction was he to go? Which way should he look! It seemed so vast, so inscrutable, that he was appalled. For the first time since he had left that little Paris in Kentucky he felt despair. Such a search as his was hopeless, doomed in the beginning. His face turned gray, his chin sank upon his chest, but then Bill Breakstone rode up beside him, and his loud, cheery voice sounded in his ear.

"Well, here we are at last, Phil," he exclaimed. "We've ridden all the way across Texas, and it must have been a hundred thousand miles. Now we stand, or rather sit, on the shores of the Rio Grande.

"Behold the river!

But I don't quiver.

They call it grand.

It's mostly sand.

It's no Mississippi, Phil, but it's a hard stream for an outfit like ours to cross. I'm glad that Taylor has already cleared the way. You remember what a fight we had with the Comanches back at the crossing of that other and smaller river."

"I do," said Phil, "but there is nothing here to oppose us, and doubtless we can make the crossing in peace."

CHAPTER XI

WITH THE ARMY

The crossing of the Rio Grande was a formidable task, and the train could never have accomplished it in the face of a foe, even small in numbers, but no Mexicans were present, and they went about their task unhindered. One of the streams was too deep to be forded, but they cut down the larger trees and constructed a strong raft, which they managed to steer over with long poles. The reluctant horses and mules were forced upon it, and thus the train was carried in safety over the deep water. Nor was the task then ended. It usually took six horses and ten or twelve men to drag a wagon through the sand and carry it up the bank to the solid earth beyond, the way having been carefully examined in advance in order to avoid quicksand.

It took three days to build the raft and complete the passage. Phil had never worked so hard in his life before. He pushed at wagon wheels and pulled at the bridles of mules and horses until every bone in him ached, and he felt as if he never could get his strength again. But the train was safely across, without the loss of a weapon or an animal. They were in Mexico, and they did not deceive themselves about the greatness and danger of the task that lay before them. Phil felt the curious effect which the passage over the border from one country to another usually has on people, especially the young. It seemed to him that in passing that strip of muddy river he had come upon a new soil, and into a new climate--into a new world, in fact. Yet the Texas shore, in reality, looked exactly like the Mexican, and was like it.

"Well, Phil," said Bill Breakstone, "here we are in Mexico. I'm covered with mud, so are you, and so is Arenberg. I think it's Texas and Mexico mud mixed, so suppose we go down, find a clear place in the water, and get rid of it."

They found a cool little pool, an eddy or backwater, where the water standing over white sand was fairly clear, and the three, stripping, sprang in. The water was deep, and Bill plunged and dived and spluttered with great delight. Phil and Arenberg were not so noisy, but they found the bath an equal pleasure. It was an overwhelming luxury to get the sand out of their eyes and ears and hair, and to feel the cool water on bodies hot with the ache and grime of three days' hard work.

"You'd better make the best of it, Phil," said Breakstone. "The part of Mexico that we are going into isn't very strong on water, and maybe you won't get another bath for a year."

"I'm doing it," said the boy.

"And don't you mind the fact," said Bill Breakstone, "that the alligators of the Rio Grande, famous for their size and appetite, like to lie around in lovely cool pools like this and bite the bare legs of careless boys who come down to bathe."

Phil felt something grasp his right leg and pull hard. He uttered a yell, and then, putting his hand on Breakstone's brown head, which was rising to the surface, convulsively thrust him back under. But Breakstone came up three yards away, pushed the hair out of his eyes, and laughed.

"I'm the only alligator that's in the stream," he said, "but I did give you a scare for a moment. You are bound to admit that, Sir Philip, Duke of Texas and Prince of Mexico."

"I admit it readily," replied Phil, and, noticing that Breakstone was now looking the other way, he dived quietly and ran his finger nails sharply along his comrade's bare calf. Breakstone leaped almost wholly out of the water and cried:

"Great Heavens, a shark is eating me up!"

Phil came up and said quietly:

"There are no sharks in the Rio Grande, Mr. William Breakstone. You never find sharks up a river hundreds of miles from the ocean. Now, I did give you a scare for a moment, you will admit that, will you not, Sir William of the Shout, the Shark, and the Fright?"

"I admit it, of course, and now we are even," said Breakstone. "Give me your hand on it."

Phil promptly reached out his hand, and Breakstone, seizing it, dragged him under. But Phil, although surprised, pulled down on Breakstone's hand with all his might, and Breakstone went under with him. Both came up spluttering, laughing, and enjoying themselves hugely, while Arenberg swam calmly to a safe distance.

"You are a big boy, Herr Bill Breakstone," he said. "You will never grow up."

"I don't want to," replied Bill Breakstone calmly. "When it makes me happy all through and through just to be swimming around in a pool of nice cool water, what's the use of growing up? Answer me that, Hans Arenberg."

"I can't," replied the German. "It isn't in me to give an answer to such a question."

"I suppose we've got to go out at last, dress again, and go back to work," said Breakstone lugubriously. "It's a hard world for us men, Phil."

"One iss not a fish, and, being not a fish," said Arenberg, "one must go out on dry land some time or other to rest, and the some time has now come."

They swam to land, but Bill Breakstone began to plead.

"Let's lie here on the sand and luxuriate for a space, Sir Philip of the Rio Grande and Count Hans of the Llano Estacado, which is Spanish for the Staked Plain, which I have seen more than once," said Bill Breakstone. "The sand is white, it is clean, and it has been waiting a long time for us to lie upon it, close our eyes, and forget everything except that we are happy."

"It iss a good idea," said Arenberg. "There are times when it iss well to be lazy, only most men think it iss all the time."

They stretched themselves out on the white sand and let the warm sun play upon them, permeating their bodies and soothing and relaxing every muscle. Phil had not felt so peaceful in a long time. It had relieved him to tell the secret of his quest to Breakstone, who, with his permission, had told it in turn to Middleton and Arenberg, and now that he was really in Mexico with strong friends around him he felt that the first great step had been accomplished. The warm sun felt exceedingly good, his eyes were closed, and a pleasant darkness veiled them, a faint murmur, the flowing of the river, came to his ears, and he floated away with the current.

"Here! here! Sir Philip of the Sleepy Head, wake up. It isn't your first duty to go to sleep when you arrive in Mexico! Besides, it's time we were back at the camp, or they'll think Santa Anna has got us already! Also, you need more clothes than you've got on just now!"

Phil sprang up embarrassed, but he saw Arenberg looking sheepish, also.

"You had good company, Sir Philip of the Sleepy Head," exclaimed Breakstone joyously. "Count Hans, of the Snore was traveling with you into that unknown land to which millions have gone and returned, and of which not one can tell anything."

"It iss so," said Arenberg. "I confess my weakness."

They dressed rapidly, and, refreshed and young again, ran back to the train. The twilight was now coming, and the wagons were drawn up in the usual circular formation, with the animals in the middle, and, outside the circle, were burning several fires of dry cactus and cottonwood, around which men were cooking.

"Just in time for supper," said Bill Breakstone. "I was a great rover when I was a boy, but my mother said I took care never to get out of sound of the dinner-bell. It may be funny, but my appetite is just as good in Mexico as it was in Texas."

They ate strips of bacon, venison, and jerked buffalo, with a great appetite. They drank coffee and felt themselves becoming giants in strength. The twilight passed, and a brilliant moon came out, flooding the plain with silvery light. Then they saw a horseman coming toward them, riding directly through the silver flood, black, gigantic, and sinister.

"Now what under the sun can that be?" exclaimed Bill Breakstone.

"You should say what under the moon. It iss more correct," said Arenberg. "I can tell you, also, that it iss a white man, although the figure looks black here--I know by the shape. It iss also an American officer in uniform. I know it because I saw just then a gleam of moonlight on his epaulets. He iss coming to inspect us."

The approach of the stranger aroused, of course, the deepest curiosity in everybody, and in a few moments a crowd gathered to gaze at this man who came on with such steadiness and assurance. His figure, still magnified by the moon, out of which he seemed to be riding, showed now in perfect outline. He carried no rifle, but they could see the hilt of a sword on his thigh. He wore a military cap, and the least experienced could no longer doubt that he was an army officer.

"He knows that we are friends," said Middleton, "or he would not come on so boldly. Unless I mistake much, he sits his horse like a regular officer of the United States cavalry. That seat was learned only at West Point."

The stranger rode out of the magnifying rays. His horse and himself shrank to their real size. He came straight to the group, leaped to the ground, and, holding the bridle in one hand, lifted his cap with the other in salute. Middleton sprang forward.

"Edgeworth," he exclaimed, "when you came near I thought it was you, but I scarcely dared to hope."

The officer, tall and striking of appearance, with penetrating gray eyes, seized Middleton's hand.

"And it is you, Middleton," he said. "What a meeting for two who have not seen each other since they were at West Point together."

"But it's where we both want to be," said Middleton.

"That is so," said Edgeworth with emphasis, "but I had heard, George, that you were sent on an errand of uncommon danger, and I had feared--I will not hesitate to say it to you now--that you would never come back."

Middleton laughed. He was obviously delighted with this meeting of the comrade of his cadetship. Then he introduced Woodfall and the others, after which he asked:

"How did you know we were friends, Tom? You came on as if you were riding to a garden-party."

"A scout brought news of you," he replied. "We have a small force about twenty miles ahead, and I rode back to meet you, and see what was here."

"We have some good men," said Woodfall, "and they are willing to fight. We've come a good many hundreds of miles for that purpose."

"I believe you," said Edgeworth, running his trained eyes over the crowd. "A finer body of men I never saw, and we need you, every one of you."

"What news?" asked Middleton eagerly.

"Much of it, and all bad. Our government has mixed the situation badly. We've been steadily strengthening Scott, and, in the same proportion, we've been weakening Taylor. There are rumors, I don't know how authentic--perhaps you have heard them--that Santa Anna is coming north with a great force to destroy us. Taylor is expected to retreat rapidly, but he hasn't done it. You know old Rough and Ready, George."

"I hope to Heaven he won't retreat!" exclaimed Middleton.

"He hasn't. So far he has advanced," said Edgeworth. "But I ride back with you in the morning, boys, and I think great things are going to happen before long. Besides the men with you, Middleton, we've use for everything you've got in the wagons. You won't suffer, Mr. Woodfall."

The train moved the next morning an hour earlier than usual. Wheels were turning before daylight. Hearts were beating high, and they pushed on at great speed now, for wagons, until past sunset. In the middle of the day it was hot, in the evening chill winds blew down from the crests of distant mountains, but at all times, morning, noon, and evening, they marched in a cloud of dust, much of it impregnated with alkali. It annoyed Phil and his comrades terribly, sifting into nose, mouth, ears, and eyes, putting a bitter taste on the palate, and making them long for the sweet waters of the pool in which they had bathed so luxuriously.

The next day was the same; more dust, more alkali, and the deadly monotony of a treeless and sandy plain. But that night it was extremely cold. They were approaching the mountains, the spurs of the Sierra Madre, and the winds were sharp with the touch of ice and snow. Winter, also, had come, and in the night ice formed in the infrequent rivulets on the plain. Now and then they passed little Mexican villages, mostly of the adobe huts, with dirt and children strewed about in great quantities. The children were friendly enough, but the women scowled, and the men were away. Phil did not find the villages picturesque or attractive in any sense, and he was disappointed.

"I hope this isn't the best Mexico has to show," he said.

"It isn't very inviting," said Bill Breakstone, "you wouldn't look around here for a Forest of Arden or a Vale of Vallombrosa, but this is only the introduction to Mexico. Monterey, which General Taylor took, is a fine city, and so are others farther down. I've seen a lot of them myself. Don't you worry, Phil, you'll find enough to interest you before you get through."

They also picked up some wandering scouts and hunters, who joined them in their march. Several of these brought news. Taylor was at Saltillo, and his force was small. The Mexicans were raiding to the very outskirts of the city, and they looked upon Taylor's army as already destroyed. The American force of about four thousand five hundred men contained less than five hundred regular troops. The others, although good material, were raw volunteers, very few of whom had been under fire.

Phil saw Middleton and Edgeworth talking together very anxiously, and he knew that they were full of apprehensions. It seemed as if Fate itself were playing into the hands of Santa Anna. Occasionally they saw bands of Mexican guerillas hovering on the horizon, but they did not bother with them, keeping straight on for Taylor and Saltillo. The cold still increased, both day and night, and the winds that came from the peaks of the Sierra Madre, now plainly in view, cut to the bone. Phil was glad to take to the wagons for sleep, and to wrap himself in double blankets. It was now well into December, but in two more days they expected to reach Taylor at Saltillo.

The last day of the march came, and every heart in the train beat high with expectancy. Even the army officers, Middleton and Edgeworth, trained to suppression of their emotions, could not restrain their eagerness, and they, with Woodfall and others, rode on ahead of the train. Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg were in this little group, but the three were at the rear.

"Phil, you were right when you called it a strange looking land," said Bill Breakstone, "and I'm of the opinion that we're going to see strange things in it. Our military friends look none too happy, and as I've eyes and ears of my own I know we're likely to have lively times after Christmas. Did you know that Christmas was not far away, Phil?"

"No, I had forgotten all about it," replied Phil, "but, since you mention it, I remember that it is December. Ah, what is that shining in the sun straight ahead of us, Bill?"

He pointed with his finger and showed the faintest red tint under the horizon.

"That," replied Breakstone, "is a red tile roof on a house in Saltillo, and you're the first to see the town. Good eye, my boy. Now, the others have seen it, also! Look how they quicken the steps of their horses!"

They broke into a gallop as they came into a shallow, pleasant valley, with green grass, the Northern palms, clear, flowing water, and many a neat stone house with its piazzas and patios. The domes of several fine churches rose into view, and then men in uniforms, rifle in hand, stood across the road. Phil knew their faces; these men were never bred in Mexico. Brown they were with the wind and sun of many days, but the features beneath the brown were those of the Anglo-Saxons, the Americans of the North, his own people.

"Halt!" came the sharp order from the commander of the patrol.

Middleton replied for them all, but, as Phil rode past, he leaned over and said to the bronzed leader of the patrol:

"I'm here, Jim Harrington. I told you in Paris that I was coming to Mexico. It's a long road, and you're ahead of me, but I'm here."

The leader, a thick-set, powerful man of fifty-five, looked up in amazement. At first he had not recognized Phil under his tan and layer of dust, but now he knew his voice.

"Phil Bedford, by all that's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "I didn't think that you and I would ever meet in Mexico, but when the call came I couldn't keep away!"

Then he lowered his tone and asked:

"Any news of John?"

Phil shook his head sadly.

"Not a thing," he replied, "but I'm going to find him!"

"I believe you will," said Harrington, "but your search is going to be delayed, Phil. You'll have to wait for something else that none of us will ever forget. But, Phil, you've landed among friends. Lots of the boys that you used to know in Paris and around there are here."

As Phil rode on, the truth of Harrington's words was confirmed. Tan and dust did not keep strong, hearty voices from hailing him.

"Hey, you, Phil Bedford, where did you come from?"

"Is that old Phil Bedford? Did he drop from the clouds?"

"Here, Phil, shake hands with an old friend!"

He saw more than a score of familiar faces. A number of these soldiers were almost as young as himself, and two or three of them were related to him by blood. He had a great sensation of home, an overpowering feeling of delight. Despite strangeness and distance, old friends and kindred were around him. But old friends did not make him forget his new friends, or think any less of them. He introduced Middleton, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg. Middleton was compelled to hurry to General Taylor with his report, but the other two remained and affiliated thoroughly.

"You camp with us," said Dick Grayson, a distant cousin of Phil's. "We've got a fine place over here, just back of the plaza. Lots of Kentuckians here, Phil--in fact, more from our state than any other. The rest are mostly from Illinois, Indiana, Arkansas, Mississippi, and Louisiana. We haven't got many regulars, but we've got mighty good artillery, and we're ready to give a good account of ourselves against anybody. You ought to see old Rough and Ready. He's as grim as you please. Just as soon bite a ten-penny nail in two as not. Mad clean through, and I don't blame him, because he's been robbed to strengthen Scott."

Phil and his comrades went readily with Grayson. The wagon train was already scattering through the encampment, the volunteers taking their places here and there, while Woodfall and his associates were arranging for the sale of their available supplies. Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg owned their horses, and, leading them with the bridles over their arms, they walked along with their new friends. Phil noticed that the town was well built in the Mexican style, with many handsome houses and signs of prosperity. The American invaders had harmed nothing, but their encampment was spread throughout the city.

The group walked by a green little park in which a small fountain was playing. A young Mexican in sombrero, gaudy jacket and trousers sat on a stone bench and idly thrummed a guitar. Several thick-set Mexican women, balancing on their heads heavy jars of water, passed placidly by. A small train of burros loaded with wool walked down another street. There was nothing save the presence of the soldiers to tell of war. It all looked like play. Phil spoke of the peaceful appearance of everything to Dick Grayson. Grayson shrugged his shoulders.

"You cannot tell a thing by its looks in this country," he said. "Mexicans seem nearly always to be asleep, but, as a rule, they are not. You don't see many men about, and it means that they are off with the guerillas, or that they've gone south to join Santa Anna. We haven't done any harm here. We've treated the people in Saltillo a good deal better than their own rulers often treat them, and we're friendly with the inhabitants, but Mexicans are bound to stand with Mexicans, just as Americans stand with Americans. It's natural, and I don't blame 'em for it."

"I'd wager that many a message is carried off to the enemy by these stolid looking women," said Bill Breakstone.

Yet the town itself showed little hostility. Nevertheless, Phil could not keep from feeling that it was thoroughly the enemy of the invader, as was natural. As Bill Breakstone truly said, information concerning the Americans was certainly sent to the Mexican leaders. Everything that the Americans might do in the town would quickly become known to the enemy, while a veil always hung before the Mexican troops and preparations. Nevertheless, the life of the city, save for the reduction in the number of its adult inhabitants, went on as usual.

Some of the officers occupied houses, but all the men and younger officers were in tents, either in the open places of the town or on the outskirts. Phil, Arenberg, and Breakstone spent that night with Dick Grayson and others in a little park, where about twenty tents stood. These were to be their regular quarters for the present, and, as Middleton had foreseen, the reinforcement was welcomed eagerly. They ate an abundant supper, and, the night being cold, afire was built within the ring of the tents. Here they sat and talked. Besides Dick Grayson, there were "Tobe" Wentworth, Elijah Jones, Sam Parsons, and other old friends of Phil.

As they sat before the cheerful blaze and put their blankets over their backs to shield themselves from the bitter mountain winds, they discussed the war and, after the manner of young troopers, settled it, every one in his own way and to his own perfect satisfaction. "Tobe" Wentworth was not an educated youth, but he was a great talker.

"I could a-planned this war," he said, "an' carried it right out without a break to a finish."

"Why didn't you do it, then?" asked Dick Grayson.

"I did think o' writin' to Washin'ton once," said Tobe calmly, "an' tellin' them how it ought to be done, but I reckoned them old fellows would be mighty set in their ways an' wouldn't take it right. Old men don't like to be told by us youngsters that they don't know much."

"I've got a plan, too," said an Indiana youth named Forsythe.

"What is it?" asked Wentworth scornfully.

"It's a secret. I ain't ever goin' to tell it to anybody," said Forsythe. "I've drawed up my will, an' I've provided that when I die it's to be buried with me, still unread, folded right over my heart."

All laughed, but "Tobe" rejoined:

"Sech modesty is becomin' in Hoosiers, all the more so because it's the first time I ever knowed one of them to display it."