CHAPTER XIXARENBERG'S QUESTIt was necessary for several reasons to remain some days in the cove. John Bedford's strength must be restored. After the long confinement and the great excitement of his escape, he suffered from a little fever, and it was deemed best that he should lie quiet in the cabin. Phil stayed with him most of the time, while Breakstone and Arenberg hunted cautiously among the mountains, bringing in several deer. They incurred little risk in their pursuit, because the mountaineers, few in number at any time, were all drawn off by the war.John had a splendid constitution, and, with this as a basis, good and abundant food and the delight of being free built him up very fast. On the fourth day Bill Breakstone came in with news received through the Porfirio-Catarina telegraph that the escape of John had caused a great stir at the castle. Nobody could account for it, and nobody was suspected. De Armijo was suffering from a very painful wound in the face, and would leave on the following day for the capital to receive surgical treatment."I'm going to see Porfirio for the last time to-morrow," said Breakstone, "and as we have some gold left among us, I suggest that we make a purse of half of it and give it to him. Money can't repay him and his mother for all they've done, but it may serve as an instalment."All were willing, and Breakstone departed with a hundred dollars. He reported on the day following that Porfirio had received it with great gratitude, and that, as they were now rich, he and his mother were going to buy a little house of their own among the hills."And now," said Breakstone, "as John here has been gaining about five pounds a day, and is as frisky as a two year old just turned out to pasture, I think we'd better start."It was late in the afternoon when he said these words, and they were all present in the cabin. Three pairs of eyes turned toward Arenberg. A sigh swelled the chest of the German, but he checked it at the lips. Without saying a word he drew a little packet from the inside of his waistcoat and handed it to Phil, who was nearest.Phil looked at it long and attentively. It was the portrait of a little boy, about seven, with yellow hair and blue eyes, a fair little lad who looked out from the picture with eyes of mirth and confidence. The resemblance to Arenberg was unmistakable. Phil passed it to Breakstone, who, after a look, passed it on to John, who in his turn, after a similar look, gave it back to Arenberg."Your boy?" said Breakstone.Arenberg nodded. The others, sympathetic and feeling that they were in the presence of a great grief, waited until he should choose to speak."It iss the picture of my boy," said Arenberg at last. "Hiss name is William--Billy we called him. I came to this country and settled in Texas, which was then a part of Mexico. I married an American girl, and this iss our boy. We lived at New Braunfels in Texas with the people from Germany. She died. Perhaps it iss as well that she did. It sounds strange to hear me say it, but it iss true. The Comanches came, they surprised and raided the town, they killed many, and they carried away many women and children. Ah, the poor women who have never been heard of again! My little boy was among those carried off. I fought, I was wounded three times, I was in a delirium for days afterward."As soon as I could ride a horse again I tried to follow the Comanches. They had gone to the Northwest, and I was sure that they had not killed Billy. They take such little boys and turn them into savage warriors, training them through the years. I followed alone toward the western Comanche villages for a long time, and then I lost the trail. I searched again and again. I nearly died of thirst in the desert; another time only luck kept me from freezing in a Norther. I saw, alas! that I could not do anything alone. I went all the way to New Orleans, whence, I learned, a great train for Santa Fé was going to start. Perhaps among the fearless spirits that gather for such an expedition I could find friends who would help me in my hunt. I have found them."Arenberg stopped, his tale told, his chest heaving with emotion, but no word passing his lips. Bill Breakstone was the first to speak."Hans," he said, "you have had to turn aside from your quest to help in Phil's, which is now finished, and you have done a big part; now we swear one and all to help you to the extent of our lives in yours, and here's my hand on it."He solemnly gave his hand to Arenberg, who gave it a convulsive grasp in his own big palm. Phil and John pledged their faith in the same manner, and moisture dimmed Arenberg's honest eyes."It will be all right, Hans, old man," said Breakstone. "We'll get your boy sure. About how old is he now?""Ten.""Then the Comanches have certainly adopted him. They'd take a boy at just about the age he was captured, six or seven, because he would soon be old enough to ride and take care of himself, and he's not too old to forget all about his white life and to become a thorough Indian. That logic is good. You can rely on it, Hans.""It iss so! I feel it iss so!" said Arenberg. "I feel that my boy iss out there somewhere with the Comanche riders, and that we will find him.""Of course we will," said Breakstone cheerfully. "Phil, you see that a place is registered in this company for one William Arenberg, blue eyes, light hair, fair complexion, age ten years. Meanwhile I want to tell you, John Bedford, that we were so certain of getting you, in spite of the impossible, that we brought along an extra rifle, pistol, and ammunition, and that we also have a horse for you over in the valley with the others.""It's like all that you have done for me," said John, "thorough and complete."They went over into the valley the next day, saddled and bridled the horses, and, well provided with food and ammunition, started for the vast plains of Northwestern Texas, on what would have seemed to others a hopeless quest, distance and space alike were so great. When they came out upon one of the early ridges John had a sudden and distinct view of the Castle of Montevideo lying below, honey-colored, huge, and threatening. A shudder that had in it an actual tinge of physical pain passed through him. One cannot forget in a moment three years between stone walls. But the shudder was quickly gone, and, in its place, came a thrill of pure joy. Freedom, freedom itself, irrespective of all other good things, still sparkled so gloriously in his veins that it alone could make him wholly happy.They rode on over the ridge. John looked back. The Castle of Montevideo was shut from his view now forever, although he never ceased to remember the minutest detail of Cell 87 and the little patch of mountainside that could be seen from the deep loophole of a window.But they were all joyous, Phil because he had found and rescued his brother, John because he had been found and rescued, Bill Breakstone because he had helped in great deeds ending in triumph, and Hans Arenberg because they were now engaged upon his own quest, the quest that lay next to his heart, and these comrades of his were the best and most loyal that a man could ever have for such a service. Three or four years rolled away from Hans Arenberg, the blue eyes grew brighter, the pink in his cheeks deepened, and Phil, looking at him, saw that he was really a young man. Before, he had always made upon his mind the impression of middle age.They rode steadily toward the northwest for many days without serious adventure. Once or twice they encountered small bands of Mexican guerillas, with whom they exchanged distant shots without harm, but the war was now south of them, and soon they passed entirely beyond its fringe, leaving the mountains also behind them. They met various American scouts and trappers, from whom they bought a couple of pack horses, two good rifles, and a large supply of fresh ammunition. It was explained by Bill Breakstone, who said:"More than enoughMerely makes weight,Leas than enough,You're doomed by fate."The two extra horses were trained to follow, and they caused no trouble. They carried the supplies of spare arms and ammunition and also of dried venison for the intervals in which they might find no game. They also found it wise to take skin bags of water, buying the bags at a village occupied by American troops, which they passed. They found Northern Mexico almost at peace. Resistance to the Americans there had ceased practically, and in the towns buying and selling, living and dying went on as usual. They had nothing to guard against but sudden ambushes by little bands of guerillas, and they were now all so experienced and so skilled with the rifle that they feared no such trap.It was wonderful at this time to watch John Bedford grow. He had already reached the stature and frame of a man, but when he came from the Castle of Montevideo he was a frame, and not much more. Now the flesh formed fast upon this frame, cords and knots of muscle grew upon his arms, his cheeks filled out, the prison pallor disappeared and gave way to a fine healthy brown, the creation of the Southern sun, his breath came deep and regular from strong lungs, and he duly notified Bill Breakstone that within another month he would challenge him to a match at leaping, wrestling, jumping, boxing, or any other contest he wished. They had also bought good clothes for him at one of the villages, and he was now a stalwart young man, anxious to live intensely and to make up the three years that he had lost.Meantime, leaving the Mexican mountains and the alkali desert of the plateau behind them, they came to the Rio Grande, though farther west than their first passage. Here they stopped and looked awhile at the stream, a large volume of water flowing in its wide channel of sand. Phil felt emotion. Many and great events had happened since he saw that water flowing by the year before, and the miracle for which he hoped had been accomplished. To-day they were upon a quest other than his own, but they pursued it with an equal zeal, and he believed that all the omens and presages were in their favor.They found a safe passage through the sandy approaches, swam the river upon their horses, and stood once more upon the soil of Texas. Phil felt that they would have little more to do with Mexicans, but that they must dare the formidable power of the Comanches, which now lay before them.They camped that night in chaparral, where they were well concealed and built no fire. The weather was quite warm again, save for those sudden but usually brief changes of temperature that often occur in West Texas. But there was no sign of storm in the air, and they felt that their blankets would be sufficient for the night--however hot the day might be, the nights were always cool. Bill Breakstone had first beaten up the chaparral for rattlesnakes, and, feeling safe from any unpleasant interruption from that source, they spread out their blankets and lay comfortably upon them while they discussed the plan of their further march.They felt quite sure that, with the passage of American troops south, the Comanches had gone far to the westward. The Indians had already suffered too much from these formidable invaders to oppose their southward march. Besides, they had received definite information that both Santana and Black Panther with their bands had gone almost to the border of New Mexico. The sole question with the four was whether to search over a wide belt of territory at once, or to go straight westward until they struck the Rio Grande again."I favor the long trip before we begin the hunt," said Bill Breakstone. "The chances are all in favor of the Comanches being out there. The buffalo herds, which will soon be drifting southward, are thickest in that part of the country."Breakstone's logic seemed good to the others, and the next morning they began the long march through a region mostly bare but full of interest for them all. They passed a river which flowed for many miles on a bed of sand a half mile wide, and this sand everywhere was thick with salt. From the bluffs farther back salt springs gushed forth and flowed down to the river.Then they came upon the southern edge of the Great Staked Plain of Texas, known long ago to the Spaniards and Mexicans as the Llano Estacado. John Bedford, who was a little in advance, was the first to see the southern belt of timber. It had been discovered very soon that John's eyes were the keenest of them all. He believed himself that they had been strengthened by his long staring through the loophole at the castle in order to make out every detail of his little landscape on the far mountainside. Now he saw a faint dark line running along the horizon until it passed out of sight both to east and west. He called Breakstone's attention to it at once, and the wise Bill soon announced that it was the southern belt of the Cross Timbers, the two parallel strips of forest growing out of an otherwise treeless country which for hundreds of miles enclose a vast plain."It's the first belt," said Bill Breakstone, "and, while it's not as near as it looks, we're covering ground pretty fast, and we'll strike the timber before nightfall. How good it looks to see forest again."Even the horses seemed to understand, as they raised their heads, neighed, and then, without any urging from their masters, increased their pace. Phil rode up by the side of his brother John, and watched the belt of timber rise from the plain. He had often heard of this strange feature of the Texas wilds, but he had never expected to see it.A little before nightfall they rode out of a plain, perfectly bare behind them for hundreds of miles, into the timber, which grew up in an arid country without any apparent cause, watered by no rivers or creeks and by no melting snows from mountains. Phil and John looked around with the greatest interest. The timber was of oak, ash, and other varieties common in the Southwest, but the oak predominated. The trees were not of great size, but they were trees, and they looked magnificent after the sparse cottonwoods and bushes along the shallow prairie streams that they had passed.The foliage had already turned brown under the summer sun, but there was fresh grass within the shadow of the trees, upon which the horses grazed eagerly when they were turned loose. The four meanwhile rejoiced, and looked around, seeking a place for a camp."How long is this belt, Bill?" asked Phil of Breakstone."I don't know, but maybe it's a thousand miles. There's two of them, you know. That's the reason they call them the Cross Timbers. After you pass through this belt you cross about fifteen miles of perfectly bare plain, and then you come to the second belt, which is timbered exactly like this. One belt is about eight miles wide, the other about twelve miles wide, and, keeping an average distance of about fifteen miles apart, they run all the way from the far western edge of these plains in a southeasterly direction clean down to the Brazos and Trinity River bottoms, where they come together and merge in the heavy timber. It's a most wonderful thing, Sir Philip of Buena Vista and Sir John of Montevideo, and it's worthy of any man's attention.""It has mine, that's sure," said Phil, as he walked about through the forest. "It's an extraordinary freak of nature, but the roots of the two belts of timber must be fed by subterranean water, though it's strange that they should run parallel so many hundreds of miles, always separated by that strip of dry country fifteen miles wide, as you say, Bill.""I can't account for it, Phil," replied Breakstone, "and I don't try. The people who don't believe in queer things are those who stay at home and sit by the fire. I've roamed all my life, and I've had experience enough to believe that anything is possible.""Look!" exclaimed Phil in delight. "Here's our camp, just made for us!"He pointed to a tiny spring oozing from beneath the roots of a large oak, flowing perhaps thirty yards and then losing itself beneath the roots of another large oak. It looked clear and fresh, and Phil, kneeling down and drinking, found it cold and delightful. Bill Breakstone did the same, with results equally happy."Yes, this was made for us," he said, confirming Phil's words. "There are not many such springs that I ever heard of in the Cross Timbers, and our luck holds good."They called the others, who drank, and after them the horses. It was an ideal place for a camp, and they felt so secure that they lighted a fire and cooked food, venison, and steaks of antelope and deer that they had shot by the way."It might be a good idea," said Breakstone, "to rest here in the shade a part of to-morrow. All of us have been riding pretty hard, and you know, Hans, old man, that if you go too fast you are not strong enough to do what you must do when you get there."It was Arenberg whose feelings were now consulted most, and, when they looked at him for an answer, he nodded assent.Hence they took some of their supplies from the pack horses, and made themselves more comfortable on the grass about the little spring. Lengthy scouting, done by Arenberg and Breakstone, showed that there was no danger from Comanche, Lipan, or any other Indian tribes, and they could take their rest without apprehension. They also dared to build a fire for the cooking, a luxury which they enjoyed much, but which was usually dangerous in the Indian country. Fallen and dry timber was abundant, and when they had cooked a plentiful supply of venison and buffalo strips they fell to and ate with the appetite which only life under the stars can give. By and by Bill Breakstone gazed at John in admiration. But John took no notice. He ate steadily on, varying the course with an occasional tin cup of water."Sir John Falstaff," said Bill Breakstone, "I've read a lot about you in Shakespeare, and on two or three memorable occasions I have played you. You have been renowned two hundred and fifty years for your appetite, and I want to tell you right now that your fame isn't up to the real thing by half. Say, Sir John, they didn't give you much to eat in that Castle of Montevideo, did they?""Tortillas, frijoles, tamales, tortillas, frijoles, tamales," replied John in a muffled voice, as he reached for another delicate piece of fried deer."Go right on," said Bill Breakstone, "I've no wish to stop you. Make up for all the three years that you lost."John, taking his advice, stuck to his task. Although imprisonment had greatly wasted him, it had never impaired his powerful and healthy constitution. Now he could fairly feel his muscles and sinews growing and the new life pouring into heart and lungs.After supper they lay upon their blankets in a circle, with their feet to the fire, and spoke of the land that stretched beyond the two belts of trees, the Great Staked Plain."We'll find it hot," said Breakstone, "and parts of it are sandy and without water, but we should get through to the Rio Grande, especially as we have, besides the sand, a big region of buffalo grass; and then the land of gramma grass, in both of which we can find plenty of game. Game and water are the things for which we must look. But we won't talk of trouble now. It's too fine here."They spent the next day and the following night among the trees, and were fortunate enough to find in the oaks a number of fine wild turkeys which abounded in all parts of the Southwest. They secured four, and added them to their larder. The next day they rode through the belt, and across the twelve miles of bare country into the second belt, which was exactly like the first, with the oak predominating."Makes me think of the rings of Saturn," said Phil, as they entered the timber once more.But they passed the night only in the inner belt, and emerged the next morning upon the great plain that ran to the Rocky Mountains."Now," said Bill Breakstone, "we leave home and its comforts behind."Phil felt the truth of his words. He understood now why the Bible put so much value upon wood and water. To leave the belt of trees was like going away from a wooded park about one's house in order to enter a bleak wilderness. It was very hot after they passed from the shade, and before them stretched the rolling plains once more, without trees, reaching the sky-line, and rolling on beyond it without limit. The sun was pouring down from a high sky that flamed like brass. Bill Breakstone caught the look on Phil's face and laughed."You hate to give up an easy place, don't you, Phil?" he said. "Don't deny it, because I hate it just as much as you do. Arenberg alone forgets what lies before us, because he has so much to draw him on."Arenberg was too far ahead to hear them. He always rode in advance now, and the place was conceded to him as a right. They passed through a region of gramma grass which stood about three feet in height, and entered a stretch of buffalo grass, where little clumps of the grass were scattered over the brown plain."It doesn't look as if great buffalo herds could be fed on tufts like that," said Phil."But they can be," said Bill Breakstone. "It looks scanty, but it's got some powerfully good property in it, because cattle as well as buffalo thrive on it as they do on nothing else. We ought to see buffalo hereabouts."But for two days after entering this short grass region they saw not a single buffalo. Antelope, also, were invisible, and they began to be worried about their supplies of food. Both Breakstone and Arenberg believed that there were hunting parties of Indians farther westward, and they kept a sharp watch for such dangerous horsemen, Fortunately they had been able to find enough water for their horses in little pools and an occasional spring, and the animals retained their strength. Finally they encamped one evening by the side of a prairie stream so slender that it was a mere trickle over the sand. It also contained a slight taste of salt, but not enough to keep both men and horses from drinking eagerly.After supper Phil took his rifle and walked up the little stream. It had become a habit with the four, whenever they camped, to look about for game. But they had been disappointed so often that Phil's quest now was purely mechanical. Still he was alert and ready. The training of the wilderness compelled any one with wisdom to acquire such quantities quickly. He walked perhaps half a mile along the brook, which was edged here and there with straggling bushes, and at other points with nothing at all. It was twilight now, and suddenly something huge and brown rose up among a cluster of the dwarf bushes directly in Phil's path. In the fading light it loomed monstrous and misshapen, but Phil knew that it was a lone bull buffalo, probably an old and evil-tempered outcast from the herd. He saw that the big brute was angry, but he was a cool hunter now, and, taking careful aim, he planted a bullet near the vital spot. The buffalo, head down, charged directly at him, but he leaped to one side and, as the mortally stricken beast ran on, he reloaded and sent in a second bullet, which promptly brought him to earth.Still practicing that wilderness caution which never allows a man's rifle to remain unloaded, he rammed home a third bullet, and then contemplated his quarry, an enormous bull, scarred from fights and undoubtedly tough eating. But Phil was very happy. It was in this case not the pride of the hunter, but the joy of the commissary. Tough though this bull might be, there was enough of him to feed the four many a long day.While he was standing there he heard the sound of running feet, and he knew that it was the others coming to the report of his shots. Bill Breakstone first hove into view."What is it, Phil?" he cried, not yet seeing the mountain of buffalo that lay upon the ground."Nothing much," replied Phil carelessly, "only I've killed a whole buffalo herd while you three lazy fellows were lying upon the ground playing mumble peg, or doing something else trivial. I'll get you trained to work after awhile."Breakstone saw the buffalo and whistled with delight. The four set to work, skinned him, and then began to cut off the tenderest parts of the meat for drying. This was a task that took them a long time, but fortunately the night was clear, with a bright moon. Before they finished they heard the howling of wolves from distant points, and Phil occasionally caught slight glimpses of slender dark forms on the plain, but he knew they were prairie wolves that would not dare to attack, and he went on with his work."They'll have a great feast here when we leave with what we want," said Bill Breakstone. "They're not inviting creatures, but I'm sorry for 'em sometimes, they seem so eternally hungry."After the task was finished, three went back for the horses to carry their food supply, and Phil was left to guard it. He was tired now, and he sat down on the ground with his rifle across his knee. The moon came out more brightly, and he saw well across the prairie. The slender, shadowy forms there increased in numbers, and they whined with eagerness, but the boy did not have the slightest fear. Nevertheless, he was glad they were not the great timber wolves of the North. That would have been another matter. At last he took a piece of the buffalo that his comrades and he would not use and flung it as far as he could upon the prairie.There was a rush of feet, a confused snarling and fighting, and then a long death howl. In the rush some wolf had been bitten, and, at the sight of the blood, the others had leaped upon him and devoured him.Phil, who understood the sounds, shuddered. He had not meant to cause cannibalism, and he was glad when his comrades returned with the horses. They spent two days jerking the buffalo meat, as best they could in the time and under the conditions, and they soon found the precaution one of great wisdom, as they did not see any more game, and, on the second day afterward, entered a region of sand. The buffalo grass disappeared entirely, and there was nothing to sustain life. This was genuine desert, and it rolled before them in swells like the grassy prairie.The four, after going a mile or so over the hot sand, stopped and regarded the gloomy waste with some apprehension. It seemed to stretch to infinity. They did not see a single stalk or blade of vegetation, and the sand looked so fine, or of such small grain, to Phil that he dismounted, picked up a handful of it, and threw it into the air. The sand seemingly did not fall back, but disappeared like white smoke. He tried it a second and a third time, with the same result in each case."It's not sand," he said, "it's just dust.""Dust or sand," said Bill Breakstone, "we must rush our way through it, and I'm thinking that we've got to make every drop of water we have in the bags last as long as possible."They rode on for several hours, and the very softness of the sand made the going the worst that they had ever encountered. The feet of the horses sank deep in it, and they began to pant with weariness, but there was no relief. The vertical sun blazed down with a fiery splendor that Phil hitherto would have believed impossible. The whole earth shimmered in the red glare, and the rays seemed to penetrate. All of them had broad brimmed hats, and they protected their eyes as much as possible. The weariness of the horses became so great that after awhile the riders dismounted and walked by the side of them. Two hours of this, and they stopped in order that Breakstone might take the direction with a little compass that he carried in a brass box about two inches in diameter. He had made the others buy the same kind, but they had not yet used them."This is the best kind of compass to put in your baggage on such a trip as this," he said, "and it says that we re going straight on in the way we want to go. Come boys, the more sand we pass the less we have in front of us."They staggered bravely on, but the glare seemed to grow. The whole sky was like a hot, brassy cover that held them prisoners below. It scarcely seemed possible to Phil that trees, green grass, and running water had ever existed anywhere. A light wind arose, but, unlike other winds that cool, this wind merely sent the heat against their faces in streams and currents that were hotter than ever. It also whirled the fine sand over them in blinding showers. Acting on the advice of Breakstone, they drew up their horses in a little circle, and stood in the center shielding their eyes with their hands. Peering over his horse's back, Phil saw hills of sand four or five feet high picked up and carried away, while hills equally high were formed elsewhere. Ridges disappeared, and new ridges were formed. The wind blew for about two hours, and then the four, covered with sand, resumed their march noting with joy that the sun was now sinking and the heat decreasing. The very first shadows brought relief, but the greatest solace was to the eye. Despite the protection of hand and hat-brims, they were so burnt by the sand and glare that it was a pain to see. Yet the four were so weary of mind and body that they said nothing, as they trudged on until the edge of the sun cut into the western plain on the horizon. Phil had never before seen such a sun. He had not believed it could be so big, so glaring, and so hot. He was so glad now that the earth was revolving away from it that he raised his clenched hand and shook his fist in its very eye."Good-by to you," he exclaimed. "And I was never before so glad to see you go!"Phil spoke in such deadly earnest that Bill Breakstone, despite his aching muscles and burning throat, broke into laughter."You talk as you feel, Phil," he said, "but it's no good to threaten the sun. It's just gone for a little while, and it will be back again to-morrow as bright and hot as ever.""But while it iss gone we will be glad," said Arenberg.Down dropped the shadows, deeper and deeper, and a delicious coolness stole over the earth. It was like a dew on their hot eyeballs, and the pain there went swiftly away. A light wind blew, and they took the fresh air in long, deep breaths. They had been old three or four hours ago, now they were young again. The horses, feeling the same influence, raised their lowered heads and walked more briskly.The shadows merged into the night, and now it was actually cold. But they went on an hour or more in order to find a suitable place for a camp. They chose at last a hollow just beyond a ridge of sand that seemed more solid than usual. On the slope grew a huge cactus with giant arms, the first that they had seen in a long time."Here we rest," said Bill Breakstone. "What more could a man ask? Plenty of sand for all to sleep on. No crowding. Regular king's palace. Water in the water-bags, and firewood ready for us.""Firewood," said John Bedford. "I fail to see it."Breakstone pointed scornfully to the huge cactus."There it is, a whole forest of it," he said. "We break down that cactus, which is old and dry, and it burns like powder. But it will burn long enough to boil our coffee, which we need."But they took a good drink of water first, and gave another to every one of the horses. Then they chopped down the giant cactus and cut it into lengths. As Breakstone had said, it burned with a light flame and was rapidly consumed, leaving nothing but thin ashes. But they were able to boil their coffee, which refreshed them even more than the food, and then they lay on their blankets, taking a deep, long rest. The contrast between night and day was extraordinary. The sun seemed to have taken all heat with it, and the wind blew. They could put on coats again, draw blankets over their bodies, and get ready for delicious sleep. They knew that the sun with all its terrors would come back the next day, but they resolved to enjoy the night and its coolness to the full.The wind rose, and dust and sand were blown across the plain, but it passed over the heads of the four who lay in the narrow dip between the swells, and they soon fell into a sleep that built up brain and muscle anew for the next day's struggle.CHAPTER XXTHE SILVER CUPThey awoke at the coming dawn, which began swiftly to drive away the coolness of the night, and, using what was left of the giant cactus, they boiled coffee and heated their food again. This was a brief task, but by the time it was finished the whole world was enveloped once more in a reddish glare. All that day they advanced, alternately riding and walking through an absolutely desolate land. The single cactus that they had burned loomed in Phil's memory like a forest. The water was doled out with yet more sparingness, and, a few minutes after they drank it, throat, tongue, and lips began to feel as parched as ever.Phil did not see a living thing besides themselves. No rattlesnake, no lizard, no scorpion dwelled in this burning sand. Two or three of the horses began to show signs of weakness."If we only had a tent to shelter us from this awful glare," said Breakstone, "we could camp for the day, and then travel at night, but it will be worse standing still than going on. And get on we must. The horses have had no food, and they cannot stand it much longer."They slept on the sand that night until a little past twelve o'clock, and then, to save time, resumed the march once more. The air was cool and pleasant at that time, but the desert looked infinitely weird and menacing under the starlight. The next day they entered upon a region of harder sand and in one or two places found a patch of scanty herbage, upon which the horses fed eagerly, but there was not a sign of water to ward off the new and formidable danger that was threatening them, as the canteens and water-bags were now almost empty."To-morrow they will be empty," said Bill Breakstone.His dismal prophecy came true. At noon of the following day the last drop was gone, and John and Phil looked at each other in dismay. But Bill Breakstone was a man of infinite resource."I mean to find water before night," he said. "Not any of your Mississippis or Missouris, nor even a beautiful creek or brook, not anything flowing or pretty to the eye, but water all the same. You just wait and see."He spoke with great emphasis and confidence, but the others were too much depressed to believe. Nevertheless, Bill Breakstone was watching the ground critically. He noticed that the depressions between the swells had deepened, and that the whole surface seemed to have a general downward slope. Toward the twilight they came to a deeper depression than any that they had seen before. Two or three slender trees, almost leafless grew in it. The trees themselves seemed to cry aloud: "I thirst! I thirst!" But Bill Breakstone was all cheeriness."Here is our water!" he cried briskly. "Get ready all!"He himself took out a stout shovel from the baggage on his horse, and began to dig, with great vigor, in the lowest part of the bowl."I see," said Phil, "you're going to dig a well.""I am, and you're going to help me do it, too.""But will we find anything at the bottom of it?""We will. Many a man has died of thirst in the desert, with plenty of water not twenty feet away. Some men are born without brains, Phil. Others have brains, but never use them, but I am egotistical enough to think that I have some brains, at least, and some will and capacity to use them. Now I've thrown up a pretty good pile of sand there, and I'm growing tired. You take that shovel and see what you can do, but make it a wide hole. You don't want a ton of sand caving in on you."Phil took the shovel and worked with energy. John and Arenberg with tin cups also leaped down into the hole and helped as much as they could. As the sand was soft they descended fast, and Phil suddenly uttered a shout. He drew up a shovelful of wet sand, and, after that, sand yet wetter."That will do," said Breakstone a minute or two later. "Stand aside now and watch the water come into our well."They had reached an underground seepage or soakage, draining from the higher ground above, and slowly a pool of water gathered at the bottom. The four uttered a shout of joy, entirely pardonable at such a time. The water was muddy, and it was warm, but it was pure water without any alkali, and, as such it meant life, life to men and beasts in the desert."The horses first," said Breakstone, "or they'll be tumbling in here on our heads, and they are entitled to it, anyhow."They filled their kettles and pans with water, climbing out again and again. The horses drank greedily and uttered deep sighs of satisfaction. It took a long time to give them enough by this method, but when they were satisfied the men took their tin cups and drank."Slowly now," said Breakstone. "Don't you be too eager there, John, you escaped convict! Phil, you accidental buffalo killer, just hold that cup of yours steady, or you'll be dashing its contents into your mouth before the rest of us. Now then, you sun-scorched scamps, drink!"The four drank together and at the same pace. Never in his life had anything more delicious trickled down Philip Bedford's throat. That yellow, muddy water must have been the nectar that Jupiter and the rest of the gods drank, when they were lounging about Olympus. Four empty cups came back, and four heartfelt sighs of satisfaction were uttered. The cups were filled again, but Bill Breakstone held up a warning finger."I know you want it bad," he said, "because I want it myself just as bad as any of you, but remember that it's never good for the health to drink too fast, especially when you're nearly dead of thirst."Phil appreciated the wisdom of his words. Yet he was terribly thirsty. On the burning desert the evaporation was so rapid that his system was already dry again through and through."Now," said Bill Breakstone, "fill again, gentlemen, and drink. Not quite so fast as before. Just let it linger a little, like an epicure over his wine, while the delicious taste tickles your palate, and the delicate aroma fills your nostrils."The yellow water was all of these things to them, and they did as Bill bade while they drank. After that, they took more cups of it from time to time, and noted with satisfaction that, as they dipped the water out of the pit, more trickled back in again. Toward night they watered the horses a second time, and Arenberg suggested that they spend both the night and the day there, since the water seemed to be plentiful. In the day they could at least sit in the shadow of their horses, and, if pushed hard by the sun, they could sit in their well. As the suggestion came from Arenberg, who had the most reason for haste, it was adopted unanimously and quickly.In the night, when it was cool and work was easy, they deepened the well considerably, securing a much stronger and purer flow of water. They also gave a greater slope to the sides, and then they went to sleep, very well contented with themselves. The next day, either in reality or imagination, was hotter than any of the others, and they felt devoutly thankful for the well, by which they could stay as long as they chose. When the sun was at its hottest they literally took refuge in it, sheltering themselves against the sandy bank and putting their hands in the water."My hands must be conductors," said Bill Breakstone, "because, when I hold them in the water, I can feel the damp coolness running all through my system. Now, Sir John, you escaped convict, without the striped clothes, did you ever see such a fine well as this before?"John laughed."I'd rather have this well and freedom," he said, "than my cell in the Castle of Montevideo and all the beautiful mountain springs about there.""Spoken like a man," said Bill Breakstone; "but this well is a beauty on its own account, and not merely by comparison. Look at the flowers all around its brink. Look at the beautiful white stone with which it is walled up. Look at the clearness of the water, like silver, in which my lily white hand now laves itself."Our thirst rages;Water is found;Out of HadesAt one bound."Can you better that descriptive poem, Phil?"Phil shook his head."No, Bill," he replied, "I can't. We're all of us poets at heart, but you're the only one that can give his poetry expression. One poet is enough, another is too many."At sundown they watered all the horses again, filled every canteen and skin bag with water, bade farewell to the well that they had digged and loved, and again marched westward over the sand. But they were now vigorous and full of hope, the sand was harder, and in the long cool night hours they traveled fast. Their most pressing need now was to secure food for the horses, which were relatively weaker than their masters, and by the moonlight they watched anxiously for some dim line which would indicate the approach of forests or mountains. They saw no such line, but the country was undoubtedly growing hillier. The sand was also packed much harder. At times it seemed to resemble soil, but as yet there was neither grass nor bushes.They plodded along in silence, but hopeful. All the horses were weak from the lack of food, and the four walked by the side of them throughout the night. But the night itself was beautiful, a dusky blue sky sprinkled with a myriad of silver stars. The weakness of the horses increased, and the four human beings were much alarmed for their brute comrades, who were so important to them. But toward morning all the horses raised their heads, thrust out their noses, and began to sniff."Now what can the matter be?" exclaimed John Bedford."They smell water," replied Bill Breakstone. "They can smell it a long way off, and, as it's bound to be surface water, that means grass. I'm of the opinion, boys, that we're saved."The horses, despite their weakness, advanced so rapidly now that the four ran in order to keep up."Jump on their backs," exclaimed Bill Breakstone, when they had gone about a quarter of a mile. "It's water sure, and they won't mind a little extra weight now."They sprang into the saddles, and the horses, seeming to take it as a hint, broke into a run. They ascended a slope and saw a dark outline before them."Trees! Pines! Fine, good pines!" exclaimed Arenberg. "The sight iss much good!"They galloped among the pines, which were without undergrowth, and then down the other slope. Phil caught a glimpse of something that set all his pulses beating. It was a surface of dark blue water."Yes, the pines are good," he said, "but this is better! A lake, boys! A lake of pure cold water, a precious jewel of a lake, set here among the hills of the desert, and just waiting for us!"Phil was right. It was a little lake set down among hills, with a rim of tall forest. It was almost circular, and about a hundred yards in diameter. They rode into it until their horses were up to their bodies. They let them drink copiously, and then rode back to the bank, after which they were out with the tin cups again and took their fill, finding the water not only pure but cold. Then Philip Bedford sat down on the grass and looked at the lake. A light wind was making silver lacework of its surface. Beyond it, and apparently for some distance, fine, tall trees stood. Abundant grass, sheltered by the hills, grew in the open places. At the far edge of the lake a dozen wild ducks swam, evidently not yet understanding human presence. The silver of the water and the green of the grass were like a lotion to the boy's eyes, used so long to the brazen sun and the hot sand. He looked and looked, and then he cried:"I think this must be heaven!"Nobody laughed. Every one had the same feeling. They had come from the desert, and the power of contrast was so great that the little lake with its trees and grass was, in truth, like a foretaste of heaven. They took everything from the horses, even the bridles, and turned them loose. There was no danger that they would wander from such a place. Then John Bedford began to take off his clothes."I'm going to have a swim," he said. "I haven't had a real bath in more than three years, and, after this last march of ours, I think I'm carrying at least a hundred pounds of unpleasant desert about my body.""Me, too," said Phil. "Bet you ten thousand acres of desert that I beat you into the water.""Go ahead, boys," said Breakstone, "and Hans and I will watch and decide. Remember that you mustn't have on a single garment when you jump, or you'll be disqualified."Breakstone had scarcely finished the words when two white bodies flashed through the air and struck the water with two splashes that were one in sound. Both disappeared beneath the surface and then came up, spluttering and splashing and swimming with bold strokes."A tie," said Bill Breakstone.Hans Arenberg nodded.The brothers found the water much colder than they had expected, but they swam so vigorously that they were soon in a fine glow. Bill Breakstone looked at Hans Arenberg. Hans Arenberg looked at Bill Breakstone."Why not?" said Bill."It iss what we ought to do," said Arenberg.In two minutes they also were in the lake, enjoying a greater luxury than any Roman ever found in his marble and perfumed bath. All the dust and dirt of the desert were quickly swept from them, and the cold water infused new life into their veins and muscles. Toward the center they found by diving that the lake had a depth of at least twenty feet. As they saw no stream flowing into it, they were of the opinion that it was fed by underground springs, probably the snow water from distant mountains, which accounted for its coldness. At the far side they found the outlet, a rivulet that flowed between rocks and then descended swiftly toward the plain. They marked its course by the rows of trees on either side, and they knew that after its passage from the hilly country it would enter the desert, there to be lost among the sands. To the north of them the country seemed to rise considerably, and Breakstone believed that the faint blue haze just under the horizon indicated mountains."If so," he said, "we're not likely to suffer much more from the desert, because the mountains in this part of the Southwest generally mean trees and water. Meanwhile, we'll take the goods the gods provide us, while the lovely lake is here beside us; which bears a little resemblance to more famous lines, and which fits the case just now."After a splendid swim they lay on the grass and let the sun dry them, while they soothed their eyes with the view of the lakes and the woods and the horses grazed in peace near the water's edge. It was idyllic, sylvan, and at this moment they felt at peace with everybody, all except Arenberg, who rarely let his boy and the Comanches go out of his thoughts."Maybe we're the first white people who have ever seen this lake," said John Bedford."Not likely," replied Breakstone. "Hunters and trappers have roved through this region a lot. People of that kind generally see things before the discoverers come along and name 'em.""At any rate," said Phil, "we've never seen it before, and since it's the color of silver, and it's set here in this bowl, I propose that we call it 'The Silver Cup.""Good," said Breakstone, and the others, also, approved. They were silent for awhile longer, enjoying their rest, and then Hans Arenberg spoke gravely:"It iss likely," he said, "that the Comanches know of this lake, and that warriors in time may come here. We are sure that their bands went westward to avoid the American troops. Wherever there iss good water they will come sooner or later, and this water iss the best. It may be that it will pay us to stay here awhile and seek some clue.""I think you're right," said Bill Breakstone, speaking for all the others. "We don't know just where we are going, and we've got to stop and catch hold to something somewhere. And, as you say, in this part of the world good water is bound to draw people."Now that they were thoroughly refreshed they dressed and made a very careful inspection of the country. On all sides of "The Silver Cup" but the north the belt of wood was narrow, but northward it seemed to extend to a considerable distance. Looking from an elevation there, they were positive that the blue haze under the horizon meant mountains. There was timber as far as they could see in that direction, and this view confirmed them in their resolution to stay where they were for awhile.They also took into account another consideration. It had been many months since the battle of Buena Vista. Much had happened since then, and the summer was waning. With winter approaching, it was more than likely that the Comanches would either hug the warm plains or return toward them. It was an additional reason why warriors might come to The Silver Cup. Such coming, of course, brought danger, but the likelihood of success increased with the danger.They found a sheltered place on the north side of the lake, but about forty yards distant. It was a kind of rocky alcove, sloping down toward the water, with great trees growing very thickly on every side. They put their supplies in here and made beds of dry leaves. Just above them was a fine open space richly grassed, into which they turned the horses."Those four-footed friends of ours will be our sentinels to-night," said Bill Breakstone. "I don't think any creeping Comanche could pass them without an alarm being raised, and, as we all need rest, we'll leave the watching to them and take the chances."They did not light any fire, but ate their supper cold, and quickly betook themselves to The Dip, as they called this shelter. There, wrapped in their blankets, they lay down on the soft beds of leaves, and deemed themselves fortunate. Phil could just see between two great tree-trunks a narrow strip of The Silver Cup, which flashing in the moonlight with a luminous glow, looked like a wonderful gem. The water rippled and moved softly. Beyond was the fringe of trees, and beyond that the vast blue sky with a host of friendly stars. Then Phil fell into the sleep of the just, and so did all his comrades. The only one of them who awoke in the night was Hans Arenberg. He looked at his friends, saw they were sleeping so soundly that they did not move, and he arose very gently. Then he stepped out of The Dip and walked down to the edge of The Silver Cup. There he stood looking at the waters which still shifted and moved like molten metal under the wind.There was a spell upon Hans Arenberg that night. The soul of the old Teuton was alive within him, of the Teuton who lived in the great forests of Germany far back of the Christian era. It was his inheritance, like that of the Americans who, also, grew up in the shadow of the vast wilderness. The forest and lake were alive to him with the spirits of his primitive ancestors, but they were good spirits. They whispered in chorus that he, too, would succeed, and he began to whistle softly a quaint melody, some old German folk song that he had whistled to his boy. His mood grew upon him. All things were mystic. The seen were the unseen, and the things around him had no place. Even the lake vanished as he softly whistled the little melody, and it seemed to him after awhile that an answer to it came out of the forest, the same melody whistled more softly yet, and from childish lips. Arenberg knew that he was dreaming awake, but from that moment he never doubted.He came from the spell, slipped back into The Dip, and was the first next morning to awake. But he built the fire and did all the cooking, and he was uncommonly cheerful, whistling at times a peculiar but beautiful melody that none of them had ever heard before."Arenberg must have had a fine dream last night," said John Bedford to Phil."Looks so," replied Phil, "but I'm not going to ask him about it."Arenberg and John remained and watched at the lake that day, devoting themselves at the same time, to the improvement of their camp, by means of a roof of bark and poles at the upper edge of The Dip, which would protect them from the infrequent rains. Phil and Bill Breakstone mounted the best of the horses and made a great scout northward. They found that the thick woods extended four or five miles. Beyond that the timber became scattering, and they also saw patches of open country with the succulent buffalo grass. Farther on lay the great mountains, clearly visible now."That's our water supply," said Bill, pointing to the blue range. "As we guessed, The Silver Cup is certainly fed from them, and I think that we've seen enough for the present. We've established the fact that we've got about the best base to be found in this country, and these woods will surely contain game."Their luck continued high, for within fifteen minutes they flushed a black-tailed deer, which Phil, from his horse's back, brought down with a fine running shot. It was a fat doe, and, skinning and cleaning it there, they put it upon one of the horses and carried it back to camp. They did not arrive until nearly sundown, and their spoils made them doubly welcome to their comrades."You have done good work," said Hans Arenberg, "and this deer is very welcome. There are more where it came from, and to-morrow I think, also, that I will shoot some of the foolish ducks that are swimming around on the lake."Arenberg was as good as his word; the next day they added a half dozen fine ducks to their larder. On the following day Arenberg and John rode northward, making the great scout. They had resolved to do this day by day, two to ride for enemies, and two to watch and work at the camp until something happened. Thus nearly two weeks passed and The Silver Cup remained untouched by any human beings save themselves. It was so peaceful that apparently it would remain forever so. Nor did they find anything in the forest except game, although they threshed up the country at least thirty miles to the north. Still they clung to their camp, knowing that they must have patience.The hot days passed fast, and the coolness of autumn came upon them. One night it rained heavily, but the thatched roof did its duty, and they did not surfer. The waters of the lake grew colder, but they rarely missed their daily swim. Breakstone thought it likely that it was already snowing on the distant mountains.They continued to beat up the country in circles that widened steadily, still without any sign of Comanches or any other Indian tribe, but Arenberg was resolute in his desire to stay, and the others thought it right to defer to him in the matter that concerned him most. The German held to the theory that sooner or later Comanches would pass that way, since water, wood, and game, the three requisites of savage life, were found there.Hence they made ready for winter. They had two axes in their baggage, and they built a strong shack in The Dip, one quite sufficient to protect them from the winter storms which were likely to occur here, as they were at a great elevation above the sea. They made rude fish traps, with which they caught excellent fish in the lake, and they could increase the supply indefinitely. The black-tailed deer were numerous in the forest. They also found wild turkeys, and they shot two buffaloes on the plains below. The horses grazed in a sheltered little valley, and they judged that grass could be found there all through the winter.There would be no trouble about living. Beyond a doubt, they could find ample supplies of food, and so long a time passed without the appearance of an enemy that they began to feel quite safe at their home in The Dip and in the region about it. As they sat there late one afternoon and watched the twilight come over The Silver Cup, Hans Arenberg spoke the thoughts that had been heavy in his mind that day."See what a misty twilight it iss," he said. "It iss too cold for rain, and so I think it means snow. The Comanches will come with the snow. While the weather was warm, and they could sleep on the open plain, they rode there, hunting the buffalo. Now the western bands will seek shelter and they will come here."He walked from the hut and stood looking down at the lake, the surface of which had turned from silver to gray. The three followed him with a gaze which was of blended curiosity and sympathy."I more than half believe him," said Breakstone in a whisper to the others."It seems to me that sometimes he talks like a prophet," said John Bedford."He is a prophet sometimes," said Bill Breakstone, "or at least he's got second sight. Now he's looking at that lake, but he doesn't see it at all. He sees the Comanches, riding, riding, always riding toward this place, and maybe they have with them some one for whom he is looking. Maybe, and maybe not, but we'll see, don't you forget that, Phil, you and John, and somehow I'm thinking that he sees true."It rapidly grew colder, and they were glad enough, when they came back from hunting and scouting, to seek the shelter of the thatched hut in The Dip. There, while the coals glowed on the stone hearth that they had made, and the smoke passed out through the vent in the wall, they speculated much on what was passing far to the southward of them. The great battle at the mouth of the Pass of Angostura was still so vivid in the minds of Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg that they did not have to shut their eyes to see it again, and John often dreamed that he was still in the Castle of Montevideo, sitting by that deep loophole, looking out upon his mountain landscape."I guess they're closing in on the City of Mexico," said Bill Breakstone. "It's in a rough and mountainous country, easy to defend, but after the battle of Buena Vista I don't believe anything in Mexico can defeat our soldiers, no matter what the odds.""And Middleton is with them," said Phil. "I'd like to see the Captain again. He was a fine man.""Maybe we will," said Breakstone. "The West is a mighty big place, but there are not many white men in it, and when you shuffle them around some you are likely to meet them more than once."The next morning The Silver Cup had a cover, a beautiful clear cover of ice an eighth of an inch thick. The following morning the cover was a little thicker, and it thickened perceptibly every succeeding morning, until it would bear the weight of Phil or John. The trees were heavy with frost, and the wind sometimes blew so sharply from the mountain that they made rude ear-muffs of deerskin and helped out their clothing as skillfully as possible with skins and furs.Then the snow came. Looking northward, they saw a whitish mist over the forest. The mist gradually turned to dark blue clouds hanging very low. The snow fell, at first, in slow, solemn flakes, and then swiftly. They filled the air, all the forest was hidden, and nothing marked the presence of The Silver Cup but the level expanse of the snow. It fell to the depth of six or seven inches, then the skies cleared away, became crystal blue, and the cold increased, promising no more snow for the present, but a long continuance of that which lay on the ground. They visited the horses the next morning and found them well protected in their valley. Large spaces there were but thinly covered with the snow, and the horses could easily get at the grass. Assured on this point, John and Breakstone returned to The Dip, while Phil and Arenberg, mounting the strongest two horses, rode northward.
CHAPTER XIX
ARENBERG'S QUEST
It was necessary for several reasons to remain some days in the cove. John Bedford's strength must be restored. After the long confinement and the great excitement of his escape, he suffered from a little fever, and it was deemed best that he should lie quiet in the cabin. Phil stayed with him most of the time, while Breakstone and Arenberg hunted cautiously among the mountains, bringing in several deer. They incurred little risk in their pursuit, because the mountaineers, few in number at any time, were all drawn off by the war.
John had a splendid constitution, and, with this as a basis, good and abundant food and the delight of being free built him up very fast. On the fourth day Bill Breakstone came in with news received through the Porfirio-Catarina telegraph that the escape of John had caused a great stir at the castle. Nobody could account for it, and nobody was suspected. De Armijo was suffering from a very painful wound in the face, and would leave on the following day for the capital to receive surgical treatment.
"I'm going to see Porfirio for the last time to-morrow," said Breakstone, "and as we have some gold left among us, I suggest that we make a purse of half of it and give it to him. Money can't repay him and his mother for all they've done, but it may serve as an instalment."
All were willing, and Breakstone departed with a hundred dollars. He reported on the day following that Porfirio had received it with great gratitude, and that, as they were now rich, he and his mother were going to buy a little house of their own among the hills.
"And now," said Breakstone, "as John here has been gaining about five pounds a day, and is as frisky as a two year old just turned out to pasture, I think we'd better start."
It was late in the afternoon when he said these words, and they were all present in the cabin. Three pairs of eyes turned toward Arenberg. A sigh swelled the chest of the German, but he checked it at the lips. Without saying a word he drew a little packet from the inside of his waistcoat and handed it to Phil, who was nearest.
Phil looked at it long and attentively. It was the portrait of a little boy, about seven, with yellow hair and blue eyes, a fair little lad who looked out from the picture with eyes of mirth and confidence. The resemblance to Arenberg was unmistakable. Phil passed it to Breakstone, who, after a look, passed it on to John, who in his turn, after a similar look, gave it back to Arenberg.
"Your boy?" said Breakstone.
Arenberg nodded. The others, sympathetic and feeling that they were in the presence of a great grief, waited until he should choose to speak.
"It iss the picture of my boy," said Arenberg at last. "Hiss name is William--Billy we called him. I came to this country and settled in Texas, which was then a part of Mexico. I married an American girl, and this iss our boy. We lived at New Braunfels in Texas with the people from Germany. She died. Perhaps it iss as well that she did. It sounds strange to hear me say it, but it iss true. The Comanches came, they surprised and raided the town, they killed many, and they carried away many women and children. Ah, the poor women who have never been heard of again! My little boy was among those carried off. I fought, I was wounded three times, I was in a delirium for days afterward.
"As soon as I could ride a horse again I tried to follow the Comanches. They had gone to the Northwest, and I was sure that they had not killed Billy. They take such little boys and turn them into savage warriors, training them through the years. I followed alone toward the western Comanche villages for a long time, and then I lost the trail. I searched again and again. I nearly died of thirst in the desert; another time only luck kept me from freezing in a Norther. I saw, alas! that I could not do anything alone. I went all the way to New Orleans, whence, I learned, a great train for Santa Fé was going to start. Perhaps among the fearless spirits that gather for such an expedition I could find friends who would help me in my hunt. I have found them."
Arenberg stopped, his tale told, his chest heaving with emotion, but no word passing his lips. Bill Breakstone was the first to speak.
"Hans," he said, "you have had to turn aside from your quest to help in Phil's, which is now finished, and you have done a big part; now we swear one and all to help you to the extent of our lives in yours, and here's my hand on it."
He solemnly gave his hand to Arenberg, who gave it a convulsive grasp in his own big palm. Phil and John pledged their faith in the same manner, and moisture dimmed Arenberg's honest eyes.
"It will be all right, Hans, old man," said Breakstone. "We'll get your boy sure. About how old is he now?"
"Ten."
"Then the Comanches have certainly adopted him. They'd take a boy at just about the age he was captured, six or seven, because he would soon be old enough to ride and take care of himself, and he's not too old to forget all about his white life and to become a thorough Indian. That logic is good. You can rely on it, Hans."
"It iss so! I feel it iss so!" said Arenberg. "I feel that my boy iss out there somewhere with the Comanche riders, and that we will find him."
"Of course we will," said Breakstone cheerfully. "Phil, you see that a place is registered in this company for one William Arenberg, blue eyes, light hair, fair complexion, age ten years. Meanwhile I want to tell you, John Bedford, that we were so certain of getting you, in spite of the impossible, that we brought along an extra rifle, pistol, and ammunition, and that we also have a horse for you over in the valley with the others."
"It's like all that you have done for me," said John, "thorough and complete."
They went over into the valley the next day, saddled and bridled the horses, and, well provided with food and ammunition, started for the vast plains of Northwestern Texas, on what would have seemed to others a hopeless quest, distance and space alike were so great. When they came out upon one of the early ridges John had a sudden and distinct view of the Castle of Montevideo lying below, honey-colored, huge, and threatening. A shudder that had in it an actual tinge of physical pain passed through him. One cannot forget in a moment three years between stone walls. But the shudder was quickly gone, and, in its place, came a thrill of pure joy. Freedom, freedom itself, irrespective of all other good things, still sparkled so gloriously in his veins that it alone could make him wholly happy.
They rode on over the ridge. John looked back. The Castle of Montevideo was shut from his view now forever, although he never ceased to remember the minutest detail of Cell 87 and the little patch of mountainside that could be seen from the deep loophole of a window.
But they were all joyous, Phil because he had found and rescued his brother, John because he had been found and rescued, Bill Breakstone because he had helped in great deeds ending in triumph, and Hans Arenberg because they were now engaged upon his own quest, the quest that lay next to his heart, and these comrades of his were the best and most loyal that a man could ever have for such a service. Three or four years rolled away from Hans Arenberg, the blue eyes grew brighter, the pink in his cheeks deepened, and Phil, looking at him, saw that he was really a young man. Before, he had always made upon his mind the impression of middle age.
They rode steadily toward the northwest for many days without serious adventure. Once or twice they encountered small bands of Mexican guerillas, with whom they exchanged distant shots without harm, but the war was now south of them, and soon they passed entirely beyond its fringe, leaving the mountains also behind them. They met various American scouts and trappers, from whom they bought a couple of pack horses, two good rifles, and a large supply of fresh ammunition. It was explained by Bill Breakstone, who said:
"More than enoughMerely makes weight,Leas than enough,You're doomed by fate."
"More than enoughMerely makes weight,Leas than enough,You're doomed by fate."
"More than enough
Merely makes weight,
Merely makes weight,
Leas than enough,
You're doomed by fate."
You're doomed by fate."
The two extra horses were trained to follow, and they caused no trouble. They carried the supplies of spare arms and ammunition and also of dried venison for the intervals in which they might find no game. They also found it wise to take skin bags of water, buying the bags at a village occupied by American troops, which they passed. They found Northern Mexico almost at peace. Resistance to the Americans there had ceased practically, and in the towns buying and selling, living and dying went on as usual. They had nothing to guard against but sudden ambushes by little bands of guerillas, and they were now all so experienced and so skilled with the rifle that they feared no such trap.
It was wonderful at this time to watch John Bedford grow. He had already reached the stature and frame of a man, but when he came from the Castle of Montevideo he was a frame, and not much more. Now the flesh formed fast upon this frame, cords and knots of muscle grew upon his arms, his cheeks filled out, the prison pallor disappeared and gave way to a fine healthy brown, the creation of the Southern sun, his breath came deep and regular from strong lungs, and he duly notified Bill Breakstone that within another month he would challenge him to a match at leaping, wrestling, jumping, boxing, or any other contest he wished. They had also bought good clothes for him at one of the villages, and he was now a stalwart young man, anxious to live intensely and to make up the three years that he had lost.
Meantime, leaving the Mexican mountains and the alkali desert of the plateau behind them, they came to the Rio Grande, though farther west than their first passage. Here they stopped and looked awhile at the stream, a large volume of water flowing in its wide channel of sand. Phil felt emotion. Many and great events had happened since he saw that water flowing by the year before, and the miracle for which he hoped had been accomplished. To-day they were upon a quest other than his own, but they pursued it with an equal zeal, and he believed that all the omens and presages were in their favor.
They found a safe passage through the sandy approaches, swam the river upon their horses, and stood once more upon the soil of Texas. Phil felt that they would have little more to do with Mexicans, but that they must dare the formidable power of the Comanches, which now lay before them.
They camped that night in chaparral, where they were well concealed and built no fire. The weather was quite warm again, save for those sudden but usually brief changes of temperature that often occur in West Texas. But there was no sign of storm in the air, and they felt that their blankets would be sufficient for the night--however hot the day might be, the nights were always cool. Bill Breakstone had first beaten up the chaparral for rattlesnakes, and, feeling safe from any unpleasant interruption from that source, they spread out their blankets and lay comfortably upon them while they discussed the plan of their further march.
They felt quite sure that, with the passage of American troops south, the Comanches had gone far to the westward. The Indians had already suffered too much from these formidable invaders to oppose their southward march. Besides, they had received definite information that both Santana and Black Panther with their bands had gone almost to the border of New Mexico. The sole question with the four was whether to search over a wide belt of territory at once, or to go straight westward until they struck the Rio Grande again.
"I favor the long trip before we begin the hunt," said Bill Breakstone. "The chances are all in favor of the Comanches being out there. The buffalo herds, which will soon be drifting southward, are thickest in that part of the country."
Breakstone's logic seemed good to the others, and the next morning they began the long march through a region mostly bare but full of interest for them all. They passed a river which flowed for many miles on a bed of sand a half mile wide, and this sand everywhere was thick with salt. From the bluffs farther back salt springs gushed forth and flowed down to the river.
Then they came upon the southern edge of the Great Staked Plain of Texas, known long ago to the Spaniards and Mexicans as the Llano Estacado. John Bedford, who was a little in advance, was the first to see the southern belt of timber. It had been discovered very soon that John's eyes were the keenest of them all. He believed himself that they had been strengthened by his long staring through the loophole at the castle in order to make out every detail of his little landscape on the far mountainside. Now he saw a faint dark line running along the horizon until it passed out of sight both to east and west. He called Breakstone's attention to it at once, and the wise Bill soon announced that it was the southern belt of the Cross Timbers, the two parallel strips of forest growing out of an otherwise treeless country which for hundreds of miles enclose a vast plain.
"It's the first belt," said Bill Breakstone, "and, while it's not as near as it looks, we're covering ground pretty fast, and we'll strike the timber before nightfall. How good it looks to see forest again."
Even the horses seemed to understand, as they raised their heads, neighed, and then, without any urging from their masters, increased their pace. Phil rode up by the side of his brother John, and watched the belt of timber rise from the plain. He had often heard of this strange feature of the Texas wilds, but he had never expected to see it.
A little before nightfall they rode out of a plain, perfectly bare behind them for hundreds of miles, into the timber, which grew up in an arid country without any apparent cause, watered by no rivers or creeks and by no melting snows from mountains. Phil and John looked around with the greatest interest. The timber was of oak, ash, and other varieties common in the Southwest, but the oak predominated. The trees were not of great size, but they were trees, and they looked magnificent after the sparse cottonwoods and bushes along the shallow prairie streams that they had passed.
The foliage had already turned brown under the summer sun, but there was fresh grass within the shadow of the trees, upon which the horses grazed eagerly when they were turned loose. The four meanwhile rejoiced, and looked around, seeking a place for a camp.
"How long is this belt, Bill?" asked Phil of Breakstone.
"I don't know, but maybe it's a thousand miles. There's two of them, you know. That's the reason they call them the Cross Timbers. After you pass through this belt you cross about fifteen miles of perfectly bare plain, and then you come to the second belt, which is timbered exactly like this. One belt is about eight miles wide, the other about twelve miles wide, and, keeping an average distance of about fifteen miles apart, they run all the way from the far western edge of these plains in a southeasterly direction clean down to the Brazos and Trinity River bottoms, where they come together and merge in the heavy timber. It's a most wonderful thing, Sir Philip of Buena Vista and Sir John of Montevideo, and it's worthy of any man's attention."
"It has mine, that's sure," said Phil, as he walked about through the forest. "It's an extraordinary freak of nature, but the roots of the two belts of timber must be fed by subterranean water, though it's strange that they should run parallel so many hundreds of miles, always separated by that strip of dry country fifteen miles wide, as you say, Bill."
"I can't account for it, Phil," replied Breakstone, "and I don't try. The people who don't believe in queer things are those who stay at home and sit by the fire. I've roamed all my life, and I've had experience enough to believe that anything is possible."
"Look!" exclaimed Phil in delight. "Here's our camp, just made for us!"
He pointed to a tiny spring oozing from beneath the roots of a large oak, flowing perhaps thirty yards and then losing itself beneath the roots of another large oak. It looked clear and fresh, and Phil, kneeling down and drinking, found it cold and delightful. Bill Breakstone did the same, with results equally happy.
"Yes, this was made for us," he said, confirming Phil's words. "There are not many such springs that I ever heard of in the Cross Timbers, and our luck holds good."
They called the others, who drank, and after them the horses. It was an ideal place for a camp, and they felt so secure that they lighted a fire and cooked food, venison, and steaks of antelope and deer that they had shot by the way.
"It might be a good idea," said Breakstone, "to rest here in the shade a part of to-morrow. All of us have been riding pretty hard, and you know, Hans, old man, that if you go too fast you are not strong enough to do what you must do when you get there."
It was Arenberg whose feelings were now consulted most, and, when they looked at him for an answer, he nodded assent.
Hence they took some of their supplies from the pack horses, and made themselves more comfortable on the grass about the little spring. Lengthy scouting, done by Arenberg and Breakstone, showed that there was no danger from Comanche, Lipan, or any other Indian tribes, and they could take their rest without apprehension. They also dared to build a fire for the cooking, a luxury which they enjoyed much, but which was usually dangerous in the Indian country. Fallen and dry timber was abundant, and when they had cooked a plentiful supply of venison and buffalo strips they fell to and ate with the appetite which only life under the stars can give. By and by Bill Breakstone gazed at John in admiration. But John took no notice. He ate steadily on, varying the course with an occasional tin cup of water.
"Sir John Falstaff," said Bill Breakstone, "I've read a lot about you in Shakespeare, and on two or three memorable occasions I have played you. You have been renowned two hundred and fifty years for your appetite, and I want to tell you right now that your fame isn't up to the real thing by half. Say, Sir John, they didn't give you much to eat in that Castle of Montevideo, did they?"
"Tortillas, frijoles, tamales, tortillas, frijoles, tamales," replied John in a muffled voice, as he reached for another delicate piece of fried deer.
"Go right on," said Bill Breakstone, "I've no wish to stop you. Make up for all the three years that you lost."
John, taking his advice, stuck to his task. Although imprisonment had greatly wasted him, it had never impaired his powerful and healthy constitution. Now he could fairly feel his muscles and sinews growing and the new life pouring into heart and lungs.
After supper they lay upon their blankets in a circle, with their feet to the fire, and spoke of the land that stretched beyond the two belts of trees, the Great Staked Plain.
"We'll find it hot," said Breakstone, "and parts of it are sandy and without water, but we should get through to the Rio Grande, especially as we have, besides the sand, a big region of buffalo grass; and then the land of gramma grass, in both of which we can find plenty of game. Game and water are the things for which we must look. But we won't talk of trouble now. It's too fine here."
They spent the next day and the following night among the trees, and were fortunate enough to find in the oaks a number of fine wild turkeys which abounded in all parts of the Southwest. They secured four, and added them to their larder. The next day they rode through the belt, and across the twelve miles of bare country into the second belt, which was exactly like the first, with the oak predominating.
"Makes me think of the rings of Saturn," said Phil, as they entered the timber once more.
But they passed the night only in the inner belt, and emerged the next morning upon the great plain that ran to the Rocky Mountains.
"Now," said Bill Breakstone, "we leave home and its comforts behind."
Phil felt the truth of his words. He understood now why the Bible put so much value upon wood and water. To leave the belt of trees was like going away from a wooded park about one's house in order to enter a bleak wilderness. It was very hot after they passed from the shade, and before them stretched the rolling plains once more, without trees, reaching the sky-line, and rolling on beyond it without limit. The sun was pouring down from a high sky that flamed like brass. Bill Breakstone caught the look on Phil's face and laughed.
"You hate to give up an easy place, don't you, Phil?" he said. "Don't deny it, because I hate it just as much as you do. Arenberg alone forgets what lies before us, because he has so much to draw him on."
Arenberg was too far ahead to hear them. He always rode in advance now, and the place was conceded to him as a right. They passed through a region of gramma grass which stood about three feet in height, and entered a stretch of buffalo grass, where little clumps of the grass were scattered over the brown plain.
"It doesn't look as if great buffalo herds could be fed on tufts like that," said Phil.
"But they can be," said Bill Breakstone. "It looks scanty, but it's got some powerfully good property in it, because cattle as well as buffalo thrive on it as they do on nothing else. We ought to see buffalo hereabouts."
But for two days after entering this short grass region they saw not a single buffalo. Antelope, also, were invisible, and they began to be worried about their supplies of food. Both Breakstone and Arenberg believed that there were hunting parties of Indians farther westward, and they kept a sharp watch for such dangerous horsemen, Fortunately they had been able to find enough water for their horses in little pools and an occasional spring, and the animals retained their strength. Finally they encamped one evening by the side of a prairie stream so slender that it was a mere trickle over the sand. It also contained a slight taste of salt, but not enough to keep both men and horses from drinking eagerly.
After supper Phil took his rifle and walked up the little stream. It had become a habit with the four, whenever they camped, to look about for game. But they had been disappointed so often that Phil's quest now was purely mechanical. Still he was alert and ready. The training of the wilderness compelled any one with wisdom to acquire such quantities quickly. He walked perhaps half a mile along the brook, which was edged here and there with straggling bushes, and at other points with nothing at all. It was twilight now, and suddenly something huge and brown rose up among a cluster of the dwarf bushes directly in Phil's path. In the fading light it loomed monstrous and misshapen, but Phil knew that it was a lone bull buffalo, probably an old and evil-tempered outcast from the herd. He saw that the big brute was angry, but he was a cool hunter now, and, taking careful aim, he planted a bullet near the vital spot. The buffalo, head down, charged directly at him, but he leaped to one side and, as the mortally stricken beast ran on, he reloaded and sent in a second bullet, which promptly brought him to earth.
Still practicing that wilderness caution which never allows a man's rifle to remain unloaded, he rammed home a third bullet, and then contemplated his quarry, an enormous bull, scarred from fights and undoubtedly tough eating. But Phil was very happy. It was in this case not the pride of the hunter, but the joy of the commissary. Tough though this bull might be, there was enough of him to feed the four many a long day.
While he was standing there he heard the sound of running feet, and he knew that it was the others coming to the report of his shots. Bill Breakstone first hove into view.
"What is it, Phil?" he cried, not yet seeing the mountain of buffalo that lay upon the ground.
"Nothing much," replied Phil carelessly, "only I've killed a whole buffalo herd while you three lazy fellows were lying upon the ground playing mumble peg, or doing something else trivial. I'll get you trained to work after awhile."
Breakstone saw the buffalo and whistled with delight. The four set to work, skinned him, and then began to cut off the tenderest parts of the meat for drying. This was a task that took them a long time, but fortunately the night was clear, with a bright moon. Before they finished they heard the howling of wolves from distant points, and Phil occasionally caught slight glimpses of slender dark forms on the plain, but he knew they were prairie wolves that would not dare to attack, and he went on with his work.
"They'll have a great feast here when we leave with what we want," said Bill Breakstone. "They're not inviting creatures, but I'm sorry for 'em sometimes, they seem so eternally hungry."
After the task was finished, three went back for the horses to carry their food supply, and Phil was left to guard it. He was tired now, and he sat down on the ground with his rifle across his knee. The moon came out more brightly, and he saw well across the prairie. The slender, shadowy forms there increased in numbers, and they whined with eagerness, but the boy did not have the slightest fear. Nevertheless, he was glad they were not the great timber wolves of the North. That would have been another matter. At last he took a piece of the buffalo that his comrades and he would not use and flung it as far as he could upon the prairie.
There was a rush of feet, a confused snarling and fighting, and then a long death howl. In the rush some wolf had been bitten, and, at the sight of the blood, the others had leaped upon him and devoured him.
Phil, who understood the sounds, shuddered. He had not meant to cause cannibalism, and he was glad when his comrades returned with the horses. They spent two days jerking the buffalo meat, as best they could in the time and under the conditions, and they soon found the precaution one of great wisdom, as they did not see any more game, and, on the second day afterward, entered a region of sand. The buffalo grass disappeared entirely, and there was nothing to sustain life. This was genuine desert, and it rolled before them in swells like the grassy prairie.
The four, after going a mile or so over the hot sand, stopped and regarded the gloomy waste with some apprehension. It seemed to stretch to infinity. They did not see a single stalk or blade of vegetation, and the sand looked so fine, or of such small grain, to Phil that he dismounted, picked up a handful of it, and threw it into the air. The sand seemingly did not fall back, but disappeared like white smoke. He tried it a second and a third time, with the same result in each case.
"It's not sand," he said, "it's just dust."
"Dust or sand," said Bill Breakstone, "we must rush our way through it, and I'm thinking that we've got to make every drop of water we have in the bags last as long as possible."
They rode on for several hours, and the very softness of the sand made the going the worst that they had ever encountered. The feet of the horses sank deep in it, and they began to pant with weariness, but there was no relief. The vertical sun blazed down with a fiery splendor that Phil hitherto would have believed impossible. The whole earth shimmered in the red glare, and the rays seemed to penetrate. All of them had broad brimmed hats, and they protected their eyes as much as possible. The weariness of the horses became so great that after awhile the riders dismounted and walked by the side of them. Two hours of this, and they stopped in order that Breakstone might take the direction with a little compass that he carried in a brass box about two inches in diameter. He had made the others buy the same kind, but they had not yet used them.
"This is the best kind of compass to put in your baggage on such a trip as this," he said, "and it says that we re going straight on in the way we want to go. Come boys, the more sand we pass the less we have in front of us."
They staggered bravely on, but the glare seemed to grow. The whole sky was like a hot, brassy cover that held them prisoners below. It scarcely seemed possible to Phil that trees, green grass, and running water had ever existed anywhere. A light wind arose, but, unlike other winds that cool, this wind merely sent the heat against their faces in streams and currents that were hotter than ever. It also whirled the fine sand over them in blinding showers. Acting on the advice of Breakstone, they drew up their horses in a little circle, and stood in the center shielding their eyes with their hands. Peering over his horse's back, Phil saw hills of sand four or five feet high picked up and carried away, while hills equally high were formed elsewhere. Ridges disappeared, and new ridges were formed. The wind blew for about two hours, and then the four, covered with sand, resumed their march noting with joy that the sun was now sinking and the heat decreasing. The very first shadows brought relief, but the greatest solace was to the eye. Despite the protection of hand and hat-brims, they were so burnt by the sand and glare that it was a pain to see. Yet the four were so weary of mind and body that they said nothing, as they trudged on until the edge of the sun cut into the western plain on the horizon. Phil had never before seen such a sun. He had not believed it could be so big, so glaring, and so hot. He was so glad now that the earth was revolving away from it that he raised his clenched hand and shook his fist in its very eye.
"Good-by to you," he exclaimed. "And I was never before so glad to see you go!"
Phil spoke in such deadly earnest that Bill Breakstone, despite his aching muscles and burning throat, broke into laughter.
"You talk as you feel, Phil," he said, "but it's no good to threaten the sun. It's just gone for a little while, and it will be back again to-morrow as bright and hot as ever."
"But while it iss gone we will be glad," said Arenberg.
Down dropped the shadows, deeper and deeper, and a delicious coolness stole over the earth. It was like a dew on their hot eyeballs, and the pain there went swiftly away. A light wind blew, and they took the fresh air in long, deep breaths. They had been old three or four hours ago, now they were young again. The horses, feeling the same influence, raised their lowered heads and walked more briskly.
The shadows merged into the night, and now it was actually cold. But they went on an hour or more in order to find a suitable place for a camp. They chose at last a hollow just beyond a ridge of sand that seemed more solid than usual. On the slope grew a huge cactus with giant arms, the first that they had seen in a long time.
"Here we rest," said Bill Breakstone. "What more could a man ask? Plenty of sand for all to sleep on. No crowding. Regular king's palace. Water in the water-bags, and firewood ready for us."
"Firewood," said John Bedford. "I fail to see it."
Breakstone pointed scornfully to the huge cactus.
"There it is, a whole forest of it," he said. "We break down that cactus, which is old and dry, and it burns like powder. But it will burn long enough to boil our coffee, which we need."
But they took a good drink of water first, and gave another to every one of the horses. Then they chopped down the giant cactus and cut it into lengths. As Breakstone had said, it burned with a light flame and was rapidly consumed, leaving nothing but thin ashes. But they were able to boil their coffee, which refreshed them even more than the food, and then they lay on their blankets, taking a deep, long rest. The contrast between night and day was extraordinary. The sun seemed to have taken all heat with it, and the wind blew. They could put on coats again, draw blankets over their bodies, and get ready for delicious sleep. They knew that the sun with all its terrors would come back the next day, but they resolved to enjoy the night and its coolness to the full.
The wind rose, and dust and sand were blown across the plain, but it passed over the heads of the four who lay in the narrow dip between the swells, and they soon fell into a sleep that built up brain and muscle anew for the next day's struggle.
CHAPTER XX
THE SILVER CUP
They awoke at the coming dawn, which began swiftly to drive away the coolness of the night, and, using what was left of the giant cactus, they boiled coffee and heated their food again. This was a brief task, but by the time it was finished the whole world was enveloped once more in a reddish glare. All that day they advanced, alternately riding and walking through an absolutely desolate land. The single cactus that they had burned loomed in Phil's memory like a forest. The water was doled out with yet more sparingness, and, a few minutes after they drank it, throat, tongue, and lips began to feel as parched as ever.
Phil did not see a living thing besides themselves. No rattlesnake, no lizard, no scorpion dwelled in this burning sand. Two or three of the horses began to show signs of weakness.
"If we only had a tent to shelter us from this awful glare," said Breakstone, "we could camp for the day, and then travel at night, but it will be worse standing still than going on. And get on we must. The horses have had no food, and they cannot stand it much longer."
They slept on the sand that night until a little past twelve o'clock, and then, to save time, resumed the march once more. The air was cool and pleasant at that time, but the desert looked infinitely weird and menacing under the starlight. The next day they entered upon a region of harder sand and in one or two places found a patch of scanty herbage, upon which the horses fed eagerly, but there was not a sign of water to ward off the new and formidable danger that was threatening them, as the canteens and water-bags were now almost empty.
"To-morrow they will be empty," said Bill Breakstone.
His dismal prophecy came true. At noon of the following day the last drop was gone, and John and Phil looked at each other in dismay. But Bill Breakstone was a man of infinite resource.
"I mean to find water before night," he said. "Not any of your Mississippis or Missouris, nor even a beautiful creek or brook, not anything flowing or pretty to the eye, but water all the same. You just wait and see."
He spoke with great emphasis and confidence, but the others were too much depressed to believe. Nevertheless, Bill Breakstone was watching the ground critically. He noticed that the depressions between the swells had deepened, and that the whole surface seemed to have a general downward slope. Toward the twilight they came to a deeper depression than any that they had seen before. Two or three slender trees, almost leafless grew in it. The trees themselves seemed to cry aloud: "I thirst! I thirst!" But Bill Breakstone was all cheeriness.
"Here is our water!" he cried briskly. "Get ready all!"
He himself took out a stout shovel from the baggage on his horse, and began to dig, with great vigor, in the lowest part of the bowl.
"I see," said Phil, "you're going to dig a well."
"I am, and you're going to help me do it, too."
"But will we find anything at the bottom of it?"
"We will. Many a man has died of thirst in the desert, with plenty of water not twenty feet away. Some men are born without brains, Phil. Others have brains, but never use them, but I am egotistical enough to think that I have some brains, at least, and some will and capacity to use them. Now I've thrown up a pretty good pile of sand there, and I'm growing tired. You take that shovel and see what you can do, but make it a wide hole. You don't want a ton of sand caving in on you."
Phil took the shovel and worked with energy. John and Arenberg with tin cups also leaped down into the hole and helped as much as they could. As the sand was soft they descended fast, and Phil suddenly uttered a shout. He drew up a shovelful of wet sand, and, after that, sand yet wetter.
"That will do," said Breakstone a minute or two later. "Stand aside now and watch the water come into our well."
They had reached an underground seepage or soakage, draining from the higher ground above, and slowly a pool of water gathered at the bottom. The four uttered a shout of joy, entirely pardonable at such a time. The water was muddy, and it was warm, but it was pure water without any alkali, and, as such it meant life, life to men and beasts in the desert.
"The horses first," said Breakstone, "or they'll be tumbling in here on our heads, and they are entitled to it, anyhow."
They filled their kettles and pans with water, climbing out again and again. The horses drank greedily and uttered deep sighs of satisfaction. It took a long time to give them enough by this method, but when they were satisfied the men took their tin cups and drank.
"Slowly now," said Breakstone. "Don't you be too eager there, John, you escaped convict! Phil, you accidental buffalo killer, just hold that cup of yours steady, or you'll be dashing its contents into your mouth before the rest of us. Now then, you sun-scorched scamps, drink!"
The four drank together and at the same pace. Never in his life had anything more delicious trickled down Philip Bedford's throat. That yellow, muddy water must have been the nectar that Jupiter and the rest of the gods drank, when they were lounging about Olympus. Four empty cups came back, and four heartfelt sighs of satisfaction were uttered. The cups were filled again, but Bill Breakstone held up a warning finger.
"I know you want it bad," he said, "because I want it myself just as bad as any of you, but remember that it's never good for the health to drink too fast, especially when you're nearly dead of thirst."
Phil appreciated the wisdom of his words. Yet he was terribly thirsty. On the burning desert the evaporation was so rapid that his system was already dry again through and through.
"Now," said Bill Breakstone, "fill again, gentlemen, and drink. Not quite so fast as before. Just let it linger a little, like an epicure over his wine, while the delicious taste tickles your palate, and the delicate aroma fills your nostrils."
The yellow water was all of these things to them, and they did as Bill bade while they drank. After that, they took more cups of it from time to time, and noted with satisfaction that, as they dipped the water out of the pit, more trickled back in again. Toward night they watered the horses a second time, and Arenberg suggested that they spend both the night and the day there, since the water seemed to be plentiful. In the day they could at least sit in the shadow of their horses, and, if pushed hard by the sun, they could sit in their well. As the suggestion came from Arenberg, who had the most reason for haste, it was adopted unanimously and quickly.
In the night, when it was cool and work was easy, they deepened the well considerably, securing a much stronger and purer flow of water. They also gave a greater slope to the sides, and then they went to sleep, very well contented with themselves. The next day, either in reality or imagination, was hotter than any of the others, and they felt devoutly thankful for the well, by which they could stay as long as they chose. When the sun was at its hottest they literally took refuge in it, sheltering themselves against the sandy bank and putting their hands in the water.
"My hands must be conductors," said Bill Breakstone, "because, when I hold them in the water, I can feel the damp coolness running all through my system. Now, Sir John, you escaped convict, without the striped clothes, did you ever see such a fine well as this before?"
John laughed.
"I'd rather have this well and freedom," he said, "than my cell in the Castle of Montevideo and all the beautiful mountain springs about there."
"Spoken like a man," said Bill Breakstone; "but this well is a beauty on its own account, and not merely by comparison. Look at the flowers all around its brink. Look at the beautiful white stone with which it is walled up. Look at the clearness of the water, like silver, in which my lily white hand now laves itself.
"Our thirst rages;Water is found;Out of HadesAt one bound.
"Our thirst rages;Water is found;Out of HadesAt one bound.
"Our thirst rages;
Water is found;
Water is found;
Out of Hades
At one bound.
At one bound.
"Can you better that descriptive poem, Phil?"
Phil shook his head.
"No, Bill," he replied, "I can't. We're all of us poets at heart, but you're the only one that can give his poetry expression. One poet is enough, another is too many."
At sundown they watered all the horses again, filled every canteen and skin bag with water, bade farewell to the well that they had digged and loved, and again marched westward over the sand. But they were now vigorous and full of hope, the sand was harder, and in the long cool night hours they traveled fast. Their most pressing need now was to secure food for the horses, which were relatively weaker than their masters, and by the moonlight they watched anxiously for some dim line which would indicate the approach of forests or mountains. They saw no such line, but the country was undoubtedly growing hillier. The sand was also packed much harder. At times it seemed to resemble soil, but as yet there was neither grass nor bushes.
They plodded along in silence, but hopeful. All the horses were weak from the lack of food, and the four walked by the side of them throughout the night. But the night itself was beautiful, a dusky blue sky sprinkled with a myriad of silver stars. The weakness of the horses increased, and the four human beings were much alarmed for their brute comrades, who were so important to them. But toward morning all the horses raised their heads, thrust out their noses, and began to sniff.
"Now what can the matter be?" exclaimed John Bedford.
"They smell water," replied Bill Breakstone. "They can smell it a long way off, and, as it's bound to be surface water, that means grass. I'm of the opinion, boys, that we're saved."
The horses, despite their weakness, advanced so rapidly now that the four ran in order to keep up.
"Jump on their backs," exclaimed Bill Breakstone, when they had gone about a quarter of a mile. "It's water sure, and they won't mind a little extra weight now."
They sprang into the saddles, and the horses, seeming to take it as a hint, broke into a run. They ascended a slope and saw a dark outline before them.
"Trees! Pines! Fine, good pines!" exclaimed Arenberg. "The sight iss much good!"
They galloped among the pines, which were without undergrowth, and then down the other slope. Phil caught a glimpse of something that set all his pulses beating. It was a surface of dark blue water.
"Yes, the pines are good," he said, "but this is better! A lake, boys! A lake of pure cold water, a precious jewel of a lake, set here among the hills of the desert, and just waiting for us!"
Phil was right. It was a little lake set down among hills, with a rim of tall forest. It was almost circular, and about a hundred yards in diameter. They rode into it until their horses were up to their bodies. They let them drink copiously, and then rode back to the bank, after which they were out with the tin cups again and took their fill, finding the water not only pure but cold. Then Philip Bedford sat down on the grass and looked at the lake. A light wind was making silver lacework of its surface. Beyond it, and apparently for some distance, fine, tall trees stood. Abundant grass, sheltered by the hills, grew in the open places. At the far edge of the lake a dozen wild ducks swam, evidently not yet understanding human presence. The silver of the water and the green of the grass were like a lotion to the boy's eyes, used so long to the brazen sun and the hot sand. He looked and looked, and then he cried:
"I think this must be heaven!"
Nobody laughed. Every one had the same feeling. They had come from the desert, and the power of contrast was so great that the little lake with its trees and grass was, in truth, like a foretaste of heaven. They took everything from the horses, even the bridles, and turned them loose. There was no danger that they would wander from such a place. Then John Bedford began to take off his clothes.
"I'm going to have a swim," he said. "I haven't had a real bath in more than three years, and, after this last march of ours, I think I'm carrying at least a hundred pounds of unpleasant desert about my body."
"Me, too," said Phil. "Bet you ten thousand acres of desert that I beat you into the water."
"Go ahead, boys," said Breakstone, "and Hans and I will watch and decide. Remember that you mustn't have on a single garment when you jump, or you'll be disqualified."
Breakstone had scarcely finished the words when two white bodies flashed through the air and struck the water with two splashes that were one in sound. Both disappeared beneath the surface and then came up, spluttering and splashing and swimming with bold strokes.
"A tie," said Bill Breakstone.
Hans Arenberg nodded.
The brothers found the water much colder than they had expected, but they swam so vigorously that they were soon in a fine glow. Bill Breakstone looked at Hans Arenberg. Hans Arenberg looked at Bill Breakstone.
"Why not?" said Bill.
"It iss what we ought to do," said Arenberg.
In two minutes they also were in the lake, enjoying a greater luxury than any Roman ever found in his marble and perfumed bath. All the dust and dirt of the desert were quickly swept from them, and the cold water infused new life into their veins and muscles. Toward the center they found by diving that the lake had a depth of at least twenty feet. As they saw no stream flowing into it, they were of the opinion that it was fed by underground springs, probably the snow water from distant mountains, which accounted for its coldness. At the far side they found the outlet, a rivulet that flowed between rocks and then descended swiftly toward the plain. They marked its course by the rows of trees on either side, and they knew that after its passage from the hilly country it would enter the desert, there to be lost among the sands. To the north of them the country seemed to rise considerably, and Breakstone believed that the faint blue haze just under the horizon indicated mountains.
"If so," he said, "we're not likely to suffer much more from the desert, because the mountains in this part of the Southwest generally mean trees and water. Meanwhile, we'll take the goods the gods provide us, while the lovely lake is here beside us; which bears a little resemblance to more famous lines, and which fits the case just now."
After a splendid swim they lay on the grass and let the sun dry them, while they soothed their eyes with the view of the lakes and the woods and the horses grazed in peace near the water's edge. It was idyllic, sylvan, and at this moment they felt at peace with everybody, all except Arenberg, who rarely let his boy and the Comanches go out of his thoughts.
"Maybe we're the first white people who have ever seen this lake," said John Bedford.
"Not likely," replied Breakstone. "Hunters and trappers have roved through this region a lot. People of that kind generally see things before the discoverers come along and name 'em."
"At any rate," said Phil, "we've never seen it before, and since it's the color of silver, and it's set here in this bowl, I propose that we call it 'The Silver Cup."
"Good," said Breakstone, and the others, also, approved. They were silent for awhile longer, enjoying their rest, and then Hans Arenberg spoke gravely:
"It iss likely," he said, "that the Comanches know of this lake, and that warriors in time may come here. We are sure that their bands went westward to avoid the American troops. Wherever there iss good water they will come sooner or later, and this water iss the best. It may be that it will pay us to stay here awhile and seek some clue."
"I think you're right," said Bill Breakstone, speaking for all the others. "We don't know just where we are going, and we've got to stop and catch hold to something somewhere. And, as you say, in this part of the world good water is bound to draw people."
Now that they were thoroughly refreshed they dressed and made a very careful inspection of the country. On all sides of "The Silver Cup" but the north the belt of wood was narrow, but northward it seemed to extend to a considerable distance. Looking from an elevation there, they were positive that the blue haze under the horizon meant mountains. There was timber as far as they could see in that direction, and this view confirmed them in their resolution to stay where they were for awhile.
They also took into account another consideration. It had been many months since the battle of Buena Vista. Much had happened since then, and the summer was waning. With winter approaching, it was more than likely that the Comanches would either hug the warm plains or return toward them. It was an additional reason why warriors might come to The Silver Cup. Such coming, of course, brought danger, but the likelihood of success increased with the danger.
They found a sheltered place on the north side of the lake, but about forty yards distant. It was a kind of rocky alcove, sloping down toward the water, with great trees growing very thickly on every side. They put their supplies in here and made beds of dry leaves. Just above them was a fine open space richly grassed, into which they turned the horses.
"Those four-footed friends of ours will be our sentinels to-night," said Bill Breakstone. "I don't think any creeping Comanche could pass them without an alarm being raised, and, as we all need rest, we'll leave the watching to them and take the chances."
They did not light any fire, but ate their supper cold, and quickly betook themselves to The Dip, as they called this shelter. There, wrapped in their blankets, they lay down on the soft beds of leaves, and deemed themselves fortunate. Phil could just see between two great tree-trunks a narrow strip of The Silver Cup, which flashing in the moonlight with a luminous glow, looked like a wonderful gem. The water rippled and moved softly. Beyond was the fringe of trees, and beyond that the vast blue sky with a host of friendly stars. Then Phil fell into the sleep of the just, and so did all his comrades. The only one of them who awoke in the night was Hans Arenberg. He looked at his friends, saw they were sleeping so soundly that they did not move, and he arose very gently. Then he stepped out of The Dip and walked down to the edge of The Silver Cup. There he stood looking at the waters which still shifted and moved like molten metal under the wind.
There was a spell upon Hans Arenberg that night. The soul of the old Teuton was alive within him, of the Teuton who lived in the great forests of Germany far back of the Christian era. It was his inheritance, like that of the Americans who, also, grew up in the shadow of the vast wilderness. The forest and lake were alive to him with the spirits of his primitive ancestors, but they were good spirits. They whispered in chorus that he, too, would succeed, and he began to whistle softly a quaint melody, some old German folk song that he had whistled to his boy. His mood grew upon him. All things were mystic. The seen were the unseen, and the things around him had no place. Even the lake vanished as he softly whistled the little melody, and it seemed to him after awhile that an answer to it came out of the forest, the same melody whistled more softly yet, and from childish lips. Arenberg knew that he was dreaming awake, but from that moment he never doubted.
He came from the spell, slipped back into The Dip, and was the first next morning to awake. But he built the fire and did all the cooking, and he was uncommonly cheerful, whistling at times a peculiar but beautiful melody that none of them had ever heard before.
"Arenberg must have had a fine dream last night," said John Bedford to Phil.
"Looks so," replied Phil, "but I'm not going to ask him about it."
Arenberg and John remained and watched at the lake that day, devoting themselves at the same time, to the improvement of their camp, by means of a roof of bark and poles at the upper edge of The Dip, which would protect them from the infrequent rains. Phil and Bill Breakstone mounted the best of the horses and made a great scout northward. They found that the thick woods extended four or five miles. Beyond that the timber became scattering, and they also saw patches of open country with the succulent buffalo grass. Farther on lay the great mountains, clearly visible now.
"That's our water supply," said Bill, pointing to the blue range. "As we guessed, The Silver Cup is certainly fed from them, and I think that we've seen enough for the present. We've established the fact that we've got about the best base to be found in this country, and these woods will surely contain game."
Their luck continued high, for within fifteen minutes they flushed a black-tailed deer, which Phil, from his horse's back, brought down with a fine running shot. It was a fat doe, and, skinning and cleaning it there, they put it upon one of the horses and carried it back to camp. They did not arrive until nearly sundown, and their spoils made them doubly welcome to their comrades.
"You have done good work," said Hans Arenberg, "and this deer is very welcome. There are more where it came from, and to-morrow I think, also, that I will shoot some of the foolish ducks that are swimming around on the lake."
Arenberg was as good as his word; the next day they added a half dozen fine ducks to their larder. On the following day Arenberg and John rode northward, making the great scout. They had resolved to do this day by day, two to ride for enemies, and two to watch and work at the camp until something happened. Thus nearly two weeks passed and The Silver Cup remained untouched by any human beings save themselves. It was so peaceful that apparently it would remain forever so. Nor did they find anything in the forest except game, although they threshed up the country at least thirty miles to the north. Still they clung to their camp, knowing that they must have patience.
The hot days passed fast, and the coolness of autumn came upon them. One night it rained heavily, but the thatched roof did its duty, and they did not surfer. The waters of the lake grew colder, but they rarely missed their daily swim. Breakstone thought it likely that it was already snowing on the distant mountains.
They continued to beat up the country in circles that widened steadily, still without any sign of Comanches or any other Indian tribe, but Arenberg was resolute in his desire to stay, and the others thought it right to defer to him in the matter that concerned him most. The German held to the theory that sooner or later Comanches would pass that way, since water, wood, and game, the three requisites of savage life, were found there.
Hence they made ready for winter. They had two axes in their baggage, and they built a strong shack in The Dip, one quite sufficient to protect them from the winter storms which were likely to occur here, as they were at a great elevation above the sea. They made rude fish traps, with which they caught excellent fish in the lake, and they could increase the supply indefinitely. The black-tailed deer were numerous in the forest. They also found wild turkeys, and they shot two buffaloes on the plains below. The horses grazed in a sheltered little valley, and they judged that grass could be found there all through the winter.
There would be no trouble about living. Beyond a doubt, they could find ample supplies of food, and so long a time passed without the appearance of an enemy that they began to feel quite safe at their home in The Dip and in the region about it. As they sat there late one afternoon and watched the twilight come over The Silver Cup, Hans Arenberg spoke the thoughts that had been heavy in his mind that day.
"See what a misty twilight it iss," he said. "It iss too cold for rain, and so I think it means snow. The Comanches will come with the snow. While the weather was warm, and they could sleep on the open plain, they rode there, hunting the buffalo. Now the western bands will seek shelter and they will come here."
He walked from the hut and stood looking down at the lake, the surface of which had turned from silver to gray. The three followed him with a gaze which was of blended curiosity and sympathy.
"I more than half believe him," said Breakstone in a whisper to the others.
"It seems to me that sometimes he talks like a prophet," said John Bedford.
"He is a prophet sometimes," said Bill Breakstone, "or at least he's got second sight. Now he's looking at that lake, but he doesn't see it at all. He sees the Comanches, riding, riding, always riding toward this place, and maybe they have with them some one for whom he is looking. Maybe, and maybe not, but we'll see, don't you forget that, Phil, you and John, and somehow I'm thinking that he sees true."
It rapidly grew colder, and they were glad enough, when they came back from hunting and scouting, to seek the shelter of the thatched hut in The Dip. There, while the coals glowed on the stone hearth that they had made, and the smoke passed out through the vent in the wall, they speculated much on what was passing far to the southward of them. The great battle at the mouth of the Pass of Angostura was still so vivid in the minds of Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg that they did not have to shut their eyes to see it again, and John often dreamed that he was still in the Castle of Montevideo, sitting by that deep loophole, looking out upon his mountain landscape.
"I guess they're closing in on the City of Mexico," said Bill Breakstone. "It's in a rough and mountainous country, easy to defend, but after the battle of Buena Vista I don't believe anything in Mexico can defeat our soldiers, no matter what the odds."
"And Middleton is with them," said Phil. "I'd like to see the Captain again. He was a fine man."
"Maybe we will," said Breakstone. "The West is a mighty big place, but there are not many white men in it, and when you shuffle them around some you are likely to meet them more than once."
The next morning The Silver Cup had a cover, a beautiful clear cover of ice an eighth of an inch thick. The following morning the cover was a little thicker, and it thickened perceptibly every succeeding morning, until it would bear the weight of Phil or John. The trees were heavy with frost, and the wind sometimes blew so sharply from the mountain that they made rude ear-muffs of deerskin and helped out their clothing as skillfully as possible with skins and furs.
Then the snow came. Looking northward, they saw a whitish mist over the forest. The mist gradually turned to dark blue clouds hanging very low. The snow fell, at first, in slow, solemn flakes, and then swiftly. They filled the air, all the forest was hidden, and nothing marked the presence of The Silver Cup but the level expanse of the snow. It fell to the depth of six or seven inches, then the skies cleared away, became crystal blue, and the cold increased, promising no more snow for the present, but a long continuance of that which lay on the ground. They visited the horses the next morning and found them well protected in their valley. Large spaces there were but thinly covered with the snow, and the horses could easily get at the grass. Assured on this point, John and Breakstone returned to The Dip, while Phil and Arenberg, mounting the strongest two horses, rode northward.