Читать книгу The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista - Altsheler Joseph Alexander - Страница 3

As Phil had foreseen, his latest story of warning founduniversal credence in the camp, as the arrow washere, visible to all, and it was passed from handto hand. He was compelled to tell many times how ithad whizzed by his face, and how he had found itafterward sticking in the earth. All the fighting qualities ofthe train rose. Many hoped that the Comanches wouldmake good the threat, because threat it must be, andattack. The Indians would get all they wanted andplenty more.

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

The drivers cracked their whips, the wagons, in adouble line, moved slowly on over the gray-green plains.A strong band of scouts preceded it, and another, equallyas strong, formed the rear-guard. Horsemen armed withrifle and pistol rode on either flank. The sun shone, anda crisp wind blew. Mellow snatches of song floated awayover the swells. All was courage and confidence. Deeperand deeper they went into the great plains, and the lineof hills and forest behind them became dimmer anddimmer. They saw both buffalo and antelope grazing, a mileor two away, and there was much grumbling becauseWoodfall would not let any of the marksmen go inpursuit. Here was game and fresh meat to be had for thetaking, they said, but Woodfall, at the urgent insistenceof Middleton, was inflexible. Men who wandered fromthe main body even a short distance might never comeback again. It had happened too often on former expeditions.

chanted Bill Breakstone, and he added triumphantly:

"That's surely good poetry, Phil! Five lines allrhyming together, when most poets have trouble to maketwo rhyme. But, as I have said before, these plains thatlook so quiet and lonely have their dangers. We mustpass by the buffalo, the deer, and the antelope, unless wego after them in strong parties. Ah, look there! Whatis that?"

The head of the train was just topping a swell, andbeyond the dip that followed was another swell, ratherhigher than usual, and upon the utmost crest of thesecond swell sat an Indian on his horse, Indian and horsealike motionless, but facing the train with a fixed gaze.The Indian was large, with powerful shoulders and chest, and with an erect head and an eagle beak. He was of abright copper color. His lips were thin, his eyes black, and he had no beard. His long back hair fell down onhis back and was ornamented with silver coins andbeads. He wore deerskin leggins and moccasins, sewedwith beads, and a blue cloth around his loins. The rest ofhis body was naked and the great muscles could be seen.

The warrior carried in his right hand a bow about onehalf the length of the old English long bow, made of thetough bois d'arc or osage orange, strengthened andreinforced with sinews of deer wrapped firmly about it. Thecord of the bow was also of deer sinews. Over his shoulderwas a quiver filled with arrows about twenty inches inlength, feathered and with barbs of triangular iron. Onhis left arm he carried a circular shield made of twothicknesses of hard, undressed buffalo hide, separated byan inch of space tightly packed with hair. His shieldwas fastened by two bands in such a manner that itwould not interfere with the use of the arm, and it wasso hard that it would often turn a rifle shot. Hanging athis horse's mane was a war club which had been made bybending a withe around a hard stone, weighing about twopounds, and with a groove in it. Its handle of wood, about fourteen inches in length, was bound with buffalohide.

Apparently the warrior carried no firearms, usingonly the ancient weapons of his tribe. His horse was amagnificent coal black, far larger than the ordinaryIndian pony, and he stood with his neck arched as if hewere proud of his owner. The Indian's gaze and mannerwere haughty and defiant. It was obvious to every one, and a low murmur ran among the men of the train. Philrecognized the warrior instantly. It was Black Panther,no longer the sodden haunter of the levee in the whiteman's town, but a great chief on his native plains. Phillooked at Middleton, who nodded.

"Yes," he said, "I know him. He has, of course, been watching us, and knows every mile of our march.Unless I am greatly mistaken, Phil, this is the thirdwarning."

Woodfall had ridden up by the side of Middleton, andthe latter said that Black Panther would probably speakwith them.

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

Phil begged to be allowed to go, too, and they consented.Woodfall hoisted a piece of white cloth on theend of his rifle, and the Indian raised his shield in agesture of understanding. Then the three rode forward.The whole of the wagon train was massed on the swellbehind them, and scores of eyes were watching intentlyfor every detail that might happen.

The Indian, after the affirmative gesture with theshield, did not move, but he sat erect and motionless likea great bronze equestrian statue. The blazing sunlightbeat down upon horse and man. Every line of thewarrior's face was revealed-the high cheek-bone, the massivejaw, the pointed chin, and, as Phil drew nearer, theexpression of hate and defiance that was the dominant noteof his countenance. Truly, this Black Panther of theslums had undergone a prairie change, a wonderful changethat was complete.

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

"You wish to speak with us," said Middleton, who insuch a moment naturally assumed the position of leader.

"To give you a message," replied Black Panther ingood English. "I have given you two messages already, and this is the third."

"The arrows," said Middleton.

"Yes, the Comanche arrows," continued the chief."I thought that the white men would read the signs, andperhaps they did."

"What do you wish of us?" said Middleton. "Whatis this message which you say you now deliver for thethird time?"

The chief drew himself up with a magnificent gesture, and, turning a little, moved his shield arm with a widesweeping gesture toward the West.

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

The words were arrogant and menacing to the lastdegree. A spark leaped up in Middleton's eye, but herestrained himself.

"We are but peaceful traders going to Santa Fé," hesaid.

"Peaceful traders to-day, seizers of the land to-morrow,"said the Comanche chief. "Go back. The wayover the Comanche country is closed."

"The plains are vast," said Middleton mildly. "Onecan ride hundreds of miles, and yet not come to the end.Many parts of them have never felt the hoof of a Comanchepony. The plains do not belong to the Comanches or toanybody else."

"They are ours," repeated the chief. "We tell youto go back. The third warning is the last."

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

"It is war," replied Black Panther. "You will notreach Santa Fé, and you will not go back to New Orleans.The Comanches will welcome you to their plains with thearrows from their bows and the bullets from their rifles."

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

Woodfall nodded.

"Give that answer to your tribe," said Middleton, speaking in firm tones, and looking the chief squarely inthe eyes. "We have started to Santa Fé, and there we go.The Comanche nation has not enough warriors to turn usback."

A spark of fire seemed to leap from the chief's eye, but he made no other demonstration.

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

He raised the shield in a sort of salute, and, withouta word, turned and rode away. The three sat on theirhorses, looking at him. When he had gone about twohundred yards he paused a moment, fitted an arrow tohis bow, shot it almost straight up into the air, and then, uttering a long fierce whoop, galloped away over theplain.

The Indian's cry was sinister, ominous of great dangers, and its meaning sank deeply on Phil's heart. Apeculiar shiver ran down his backbone, and the littlepulses in his temples began to beat. He did not doubtfor a moment that the warning of the Comanche was blackwith storm. He watched the sinister figure becomingsmaller and smaller, until it turned into a dark blur, thena dot, and then was seen no more in the vast, gray-greenexpanse.

The incident seemed to have sunk deep into the mindsof the other two, also, and they rode gravely and insilence back to the train, which was now drawn up in onegreat group on the crest of the swell. The men, keenborderers most of them, had divined the significance ofwhat they saw, but they crowded around the three formore definite information. Woodfall told them briefly.He knew their temper, but he thought it best to put thequestion and to put it fairly.

"Men," he said, "we are undoubtedly threatenedwith an attack. The Comanches are numerous, brave, and cunning. I will not conceal from you those facts.A fight with them will mean loss to us, and, even if wewin that fight, as I am sure we will, they will attackagain. Now, if any want to turn back, let them do so.All who wish to go back, say 'I'."

He paused. There was a dead silence throughout thetrain. The corners of Woodfall's lips curved a little intoa slow smile.

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

A single "Yes" was thundered out from scores ofthroats, and many of the more enthusiastic raised theirrifles and shook them.

"I thought so," said Woodfall quietly, and then headded in a louder voice: "Forward!"

Fifty whips cracked like so many rifle shots. Thewagons creaked and moved forward again, and by theirside rode the armed horsemen. They descended the slope, rose to the crest of the next swell, where the Comanchehorseman had stood, and then passed on, over wave afterwave into the unbroken gray-green expanse of the West.There was nothing before them but the plains, with abunch of buffalo grazing far off to the right, and a herdof antelope grazing far off to the left. The ominous spellthat the Indian had cast seemed to have vanished withhim so far as the great majority of the men wereconcerned. But Phil and his immediate comrades did notforget.

"The words of that Indian, as you have deliveredthem to me, linger in my mind, young Sir Philip of thePlains," said Bill Breakstone, "but I am glad he tookthe trouble to give us a warning. A stitch in time maysave the lives of nine good men.

"At least that poem is short and to the point, SirPhilip. And now I think me that to-morrow about thenoon hour, if we should maintain our present pace, wecross a river known variously to the different Indiantribes, but muddy, deep, and flowing between highbanks. The crossing will be difficult, and I ought to tellWoodfall about it."

"By all means," said Middleton, "and I can tellyou, Breakstone, that I already wish we were safely onthe other side of that river."

They camped that night in the open plain. Therewas a good moonlight, but the watch was doubled, themost experienced frontiersmen being posted as sentinels.Yet the watchers saw nothing. They continuously madewide circles about the camp, but the footprint of neitherman nor horse was to be seen. The day dawned, coldand gray with lowering skies, and, before the obscure sunwas an hour above the plain, the train resumed itsmarch, Woodfall, Middleton, Breakstone, Phil, andArenberg riding in a little group at the head.

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

"We should strike it about noon," replied Breakstone, repeating his statement of the day before. "It is narrowand deep, and everywhere that I have seen it the banksare high, but we ought to find somewhere a slope for acrossing."

"Is it wooded?" asked Middleton.

"Yes, there are cottonwoods, scrub oaks, bushes, andtall grass along either bank."

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

Phil knew perfectly well what they meant, but he kept, silent, although his heart began to throb. The otherthree also fell silent, and under the gray, lowering skythe spirits of the train seemed to sink. The men ceasedto joke with one another, and no songs were sung. Philheard only the tread of the horses and the creak of thewagons.

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

"The trees along the banks of the river," said BillBreakstone.

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

The leader rode among his men and spoke with them.The train moved forward at the same speed, drawingitself like a great serpent over the plain, but there was aclosing up of the ranks. The wagons moved more closelytogether, and every driver had a rifle under his feet.The horsemen rode toward the head of the train, heldtheir rifles across the pommels of their saddles, andloosened the pistols in their holsters. Phil was conscious ofa deep, suppressed excitement, an intensity of expectation, attached to the dark line of trees that now rosesteadily higher and higher out of the plain.

An old buffalo hunter in the train now recalled theriver, also, and, after studying the lay of the landcarefully, said that they would find a ford about two milesnorth of the point toward which the head of the trainwas directed. The course was changed at once, and theyadvanced toward the northwest.

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

"Do you feel kind of tingly in your blood?" askedBreakstone, not replying directly.

"I tingle all over," said Phil frankly.

"I'm tingling a bit myself," said Breakstone, "andI've spent a good many years in the wilderness. Yes,Phil, I think something is going to happen, and I thinkyou and me and the Cap and Arenberg ought to sticktogether."

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

The black line now stood up level with the earth, andthe trees became detached from one another. They couldalso see the thick undergrowth hiding the river, whichseemed to flow in a deep gash across the plain. Middletontook from his saddlebags a pair of strong glasses, and, as they rode on, examined the double line of treeswith the minutest scrutiny. Then he lowered the glasses, shaking his head.

"I can't make out anything," he said. "Nothingmoves that I can see. There is no sign of human life."

"The Comanche iss cunning," said Arenberg. "Harmiss done where harm iss meant, but I for one am willingto meet him."

The mild German spoke in such a tone of passionthat Phil was startled and looked at him. Arenberg'sblue eyes shone with a sort of blue fire, and he wasunconsciously pressing his horse ahead of the others. Itwas evident, even to one as young as Phil, that he wasstirred to his utmost depths. The boy leaned over andwhispered to Breakstone:

"He must have some special cause to hate theComanches. You know he was in that massacre at NewBraunfels."

"That's so," said Breakstone,

"These mild men like Arenberg are terrible when theyare stirred up, Phil. 'Still waters run deep,' whichsounds to me rather Irish, because if they are still theydon't run at all. But it's good all the same, and, between you and me, Phil, I'd give a lot if we were on theother side of this river, which has no name in thegeographies, which rises I don't know where, which emptiesinto I don't know what, and which belongs to I don'tknow whom. But, be that as it may, lay on, Macduff, and I won't be the first to cry 'Hold, enough!'"

The train took another curve to the northward, approaching the ford, of which the old scouts told. Theswells dipped down, indicating a point at which the banksof the river were low, but they could still see the doubleline of trees lining either shore, and the masses of bushesand weeds that extended along the stream. But nothingstirred them. No wind blew. The boughs of the cottonwoods, live oaks, and willows hung lifeless under thesomber sky. There was still no sign of human presenceor of anything that lived.

But the men of the train did not relax their caution.They were approaching now up a sort of shallow troughcontaining a dry sandy bed, down which water evidentlyflowed during the wet season into the river. It, also, forthe last half mile before it reached the main stream, hadtrees and bushes on either shore. Middleton suggestedthat they beat up this narrow strip of forest, lest theywalk straight into an ambush. Woodfall thought theidea good, and twenty men scouted the thickets. Theyfound nothing, and many in the train began to feelincredulous. That Comanche had been a mere boaster.He was probably still galloping away over the prairie, putting as much distance as he could between himself andthe Santa Fé train. But Middleton yet distrusted. Heseemed now to be in every sense the leader of the train, and he did it so quietly and with such indirection thatWoodfall took him to be an assistant, and felt no offense.At his prompting, strong bodies of skirmishers werethrown forward on either bank of the dry creek bed, andnow, increasing their pace somewhat, they rapidly drewnear the river.

It still seemed to Phil that nothing could happen. Itwas true that the skies were gray and somber, but therewas no suggestion of an active and hostile presence, andnow the river was only a hundred yards away. From hishorse's back he could see the surface of the stream-narrow, muddy, and apparently deep. But on the hither shorethere was a gradual slope to its waters, and another of thesame kind on the farther bank seemed to lead up amongthe trees.

"It ain't so deep as it looks," said an oldfrontiersman. "'Bout four feet, I should say. It'll just 'bouthit the bottoms o' our wagon beds."

The stream itself was not more than twenty yardswide. One could pass it in a few minutes, if nothingwas thrown across the way, and Phil now began to feelthat the unspoken alarm was false. But just when thefeeling became a conviction and the wagons were not morethan twenty yards from the river, he saw somethinggleaming in the brush on the far shore. It was the dyedfeather of an eagle, and it made a blood red spot againstthe green bushes. Looking closely Phil saw beneath thefeather the light copper face of an Indian, and then heknew that the Comanches were there.

Scarcely a second after he saw the coppery face, ahurricane of arrows whistled from the covert on the farshore. The short shafts of the Comanches filled the air.Mingled with them was the sharp crashing of rifles, andbullets and arrows whistled together. Then came thelong yell of the Comanches, from scores of throats, highpitched, fierce, defiant, like the scream of a savage beastabout to leap upon its prey. In spite of all his resolution,Phil felt that strong shiver in every nerve from headto heel. Some of the shafts were buried to the feather inthe bodies of the horses and mules, and a terrible tumultarose as the animals uttered their screaming neigh andfought and kicked in pain and terror. Nor did the menescape. One, pierced through the throat by a deadlybarb, fell lifeless from his horse. Another was strickenin the breast, and a dozen were wounded by either arrowsor bullets.

The train was thrown into confusion, and the driverspulled back on their lines. Sure death seemed to hoverin front of them. The greatest danger arose from thewounded and frightened horses, which plunged andstruggled and tried to break from their harness, but the handson the lines were strong, and gradually they were reducedto order. The wagons, also, were driven back a little, and then the triumphant Comanches sent forth their warwhoop again and again. The short shafts once more flew inshowers, mingled as before with the whistling of thebullets, but most of the missiles, both arrows and bullets, fell short. Now the Comanches appeared thickly amongthe bushes, chiefly on foot, their horses left at the edge ofthe timber, and began to make derisive gestures.

It seemed to Phil that the crossing of the river wasimpossible in the face of such a fierce and numerous foe, but Middleton and Woodfall had been conferring, andsuddenly the Cap, to use his more familiar name amongthe men, whirled off to the south at the head of a hundredhorsemen. He waved his hand to his three partners, and they galloped with the band.

"There must be another crossing, not as good as this, but still a crossing," said Bill Breakstone. "If at firstyou don't succeed, then try, try again."

This flanking movement was hidden from theComanches on the other shore by the belt of timber on theside of the train, and the horsemen galloped along rapidlyin search of a declivity. Phil's heart was thumping, andspecks floated before his eyes, but he was well among theforemost, and he rode with them, stride for stride.Behind him he heard the crackle of rifle shots, the shouts ofthe Comanches, and the defiant replies of the white men.

"Keep a good hold on your rifle, Phil!" shouted BillBreakstone in his ear. "If the gods whisper truly to me,we will be in the water soon, and, by my faith, you'llneed it."

The Captain uttered a shout of joy. They had cometo a place where the bank sloped down to the river andthe opposite shore was capable of ascent by horses.

"Into the river, men, into the river!" he shouted."The horses may have to swim, but we can cross it! Wemust cross it before the main Indian force comes up!"

The whole troop galloped into the water. Middletonshouted to them to keep their rifles dry, and every manheld his above his head or on his shoulder. The muddywater splashed in Phil's face, but he kept by the side ofBreakstone, and in a few moments both their horses wereswimming.

"Let the horse have his head, Phil," said Breakstone."He'll make for the nearest land, and you canuse both your hands for the work that we now haveto do."

Phil dropped the rein, and the horse swam steadily.They were now about the middle of the stream, which waswider here than at the ford. Two or three brown facessuddenly appeared in the brash on the bank in front ofthem, and the savage cry arose. Comanche skirmishershad discovered the flank movement, but the white troopwas already more than half way across. Bullets werefired at the swimming men and horses. Some struck inflesh, but others dashed up jets of yellow foam.

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

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

He was carried away so much by the fire and movementof the moment that he did not feel fear. His bloodwas tingling in every vein. Myriads of red specksdanced before him. The yellow water splashed all abouthim, but he did not notice it. An arrow whizzed by hischeek, and two bullets struck near, but he continued tourge his horse, which, gallant animal, was already doinghis best. Some of the white men, even from the unsteadyposition of a swimming horse's back, had begun to fire atthe Indians in the brush. Phil heard Bill Breakstoneutter a deep sigh of satisfaction as he lowered the muzzleof his rifle.

"Got one," said Bill. "It's good to be zealous, butthat Comanche ought to have known more than to runsquare against a rifle bullet."

The feet of Phil's horse touched earth, and he beganto wade. Everything now depended upon an instant ortwo. If they could gallop up the declivity before theComanches could arrive in force they would secure a greatadvantage. But the Comanches were coming rapidly, andthe fire from their bows and rifles increased. The whitemen, now that their position was steadier, also fired morerapidly. Phil sent a bullet at a bronze figure that he sawdarting about in the undergrowth, but he could not tellwhether or not he had hit.

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

They were out of the river now, and in among thebushes and weeds. But they did not stop there. Drippingwith the yellow water, streaked sometimes with red, they rode straight at the Comanches, shouting and firingwith both rifles and pistols. The Indian skirmishersgave way, and, jumping upon their ponies, gallopeddown the stream to the main ford. The white menuttered a cry of exultation. They were now on thewestern bank, and the flank movement was a complete success.

"Follow them!" shouted Middleton. "We must presshome the attack upon the main body!"

Ahead of them the Comanches, bent low on theirmustangs, were galloping over the plain. Behind came thewhite men, hot with the fire of battle and urging on theirhorses. Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg rode kneeto knee, the boy between. He was wet from head to footwith splashed water, but he did not know it. A bullethad touched the tip of one ear, covering it with blood, but he did not know that, either. There was no crueltyin his nature, but just now it thrilled with battle. Hesought a shot at the flying Comanches, but they were toofar away.

"Hold your fire,"' said Bill Breakstone. "The battleis not over yet by any means. A job that's half finishedisn't finished at all."

They heard now the shots at the ford above them anda tremendous shouting. Evidently the two forces werefiring at each other across the stream, and the wagons didnot yet dare the passage. A few moments later they sawthe smoke of the rifles and brown figures darting aboutthe thickets.

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

A mighty shout was poured forth from three scorethroats, and Middleton waved his felt hat about his head.From the eastern bank came an answering cry, and thesignal was complete. Woodfall and the others with thetrain knew that their comrades were across, and now wasthe time for them to force the passage. Phil saw thewhite tops of the wagons shake. Then the wagons themselvesrolled slowly forward into the water, with horsemenin front of them and on the flanks, firing at the Indianson the bank. The Comanches sent a shower of bulletsand arrows upon the advancing line, but in anotherinstant they were compelled to turn and defend themselves.Middleton and his victorious troop were thundering downupon them.

The attack upon their flank came so swiftly that theComanches were taken by surprise. As their own skirmishersfled, the white force galloped in upon their heels.Yet these bold warriors, kings of the plains, victors inmany a battle over other tribes and Mexicans, fought witha courage and tenacity worthy of their race andtraditions. They were marshaled, too, by a chief who hadreturned to his own, the great Black Panther, and by ableassistants.

Middleton's daring men met a storm of arrows ambullets, but they charged on, although some saddles wereemptied. They were at the edge of the timber now, the mounted white men poured in a deadly fire. Thesound of the shots became a steady, incessant cracklePuffs of smoke arose, and, uniting, formed a canopy ofvapor. The odor of gunpowder spread and filled thenostrils of the combatants. Shots, the trampling of hoofs, the cries of the wounded and dying rung upon the drumsof their ears.

It was a terrific medley, seemingly all confusion, butreally fought with order by skilled leaders. BlackPanther had one half of his warriors to face the wagons andhorsemen in the river and the other half faced south tobeat off Middleton's troop, if it could. He himselfpassed from one to another, encouraging them by everyart that he knew, and they were many.

But it was Middleton's men who gave the deathblow.They struck so hard and so often that it was continuallynecessary for Black Panther to send more of his warriorsto the defense of his flank. The firing upon the wagonsand horsemen in the river slackened, and they rushedforward. The horsemen gained the bank, and, at thesame time, Middleton's men charged with greater firethan ever. Then the horsemen from the ford rushed upthe ascent and joined in the attack. Compressed betweenthe two arms of a vise, the Comanches, despite everyeffort of Black Panther and his chiefs, gave way. Yetthey did not break into any panic. Springing on theirhorses, they retired slowly, sending back flights of arrowsand bullets, and now and then uttering the defiant warwhoop.

Meanwhile, the last of the wagons emerged from theriver, and was dragged up the ascent. Although theComanches might yet shout in the distance, the crossingwas won, and everybody in the train felt a mighty senseof relief.