The Lost Gold of the Montezumas: A Story of the Alamo

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Stoddard William Osborn. The Lost Gold of the Montezumas: A Story of the Alamo

CHAPTER I. THE GODS OF THE MONTEZUMAS

CHAPTER II. THE ALAMO FORT

CHAPTER III. THE DREAM OF THE NEW EMPIRE

CHAPTER IV. THE RACE FOR THE CHAPARRAL

CHAPTER V. AMONG THE BUSHES

CHAPTER VI. THE OLD CASH-BOX

CHAPTER VII. THE ESCAPE OF THE RANGERS

CHAPTER VIII. THE CAMP AT THE SPRING

CHAPTER IX. THE SKIRMISH IN THE NIGHT

CHAPTER X. A BAFFLED PURSUIT

CHAPTER XI. THE CHARGE OF THE LANCERS

CHAPTER XII. THE HORSE-THIEVES AND THE STAMPEDE

CHAPTER XIII. THE LAST OF TETZCATL

CHAPTER XIV. THE PERILOUS PATH

CHAPTER XV. THE RETURN OF THE GOLD HUNTERS

CHAPTER XVI. THE ARMY OF SANTA ANNA

CHAPTER XVII. THE FIRST SHOT

CHAPTER XVIII. CROCKETT'S ALARM GUN

CHAPTER XIX. THE REINFORCEMENT

CHAPTER XX. NEARING THE END

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Two paths came out within a few yards of each other from the tangled mazes of a vast, green sea of chaparral. For miles and miles extended the bushy growth, with here and there a group of stunted trees sticking up from its dreary wilderness. It was said that even Indians might lose themselves in such a web as that. Not because it was pathless, but because it was threaded by too many paths, without way-marks or guide-boards.

At the mouth of one of these narrow and winding avenues sat a boy upon a mustang pony. At the mouth of the other path, upon a mule not larger than the pony, sat one of the strangest figures ever seen by that or any other boy. He was short of stature, broad-shouldered, but thin. His head was covered by a broad-brimmed, straw sombrero. Below that was a somewhat worn serape, now thrown back a little to show that he also wore a shirt, slashed trousers, and that in his belt were pistols and a knife, while from it depended, in its sheath, a machete, or Mexican sabre. He carried no gun, but the saddle and other trappings of his mule were very good. He wore top-boots, the toes thrust under the leather caps of his wooden stirrups, and from his heels projected enormous, silver-mounted spurs. His hair was as white as snow, and so were the straggling bristles which answered him for beard and moustaches.

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A ringing, sarcastic laugh answered from behind him, and with it came the derisive voice of another speaker.

"Not for Davy Crockett," he said. "I'd ruther be in Congress any day than south o' the Rio Grande. Why, colonel, that part o' Mexico isn't ours, and we don't keer to annex it. What we want to do is to stretch out west-'ard. But we're spread, now, like a hen a-settin' onto a hundred eggs, and some on 'em 'll spile."

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