CHAPTER XXITHE NOTE OF A MELODYPhil and Arenberg were undertaking this journey because they wished to make one of their usual thorough scouts. It merely happened to be their day, as John and Breakstone had gone on the day preceding. They were well wrapped up, with their ear-muffs on and with big moccasins that they had made to go over their shoes. The snow was very light and dry, and offered little obstacle to the horses, which were fat and strong with good feeding."We certainly leave a fine trail, Hans," said Phil, looking back at the impressions made by their horse's hoofs."It iss so," said Arenberg, "but since we hunt people it iss not our object to hide ourselves. Do you notice how beautiful iss the forest, Herr Philip? All the trees are white with the snow. It iss a great tracery, silver sometimes and gold sometimes as the sun falls, and it extends farther than we can see. It must often have been such as this in the great Teutonic forest where my ancestors dwelled thousands of years ago. Here in these woods I have this feeling at times, as if the centuries were rolled back, and last night I dreamed a strange dream.""What was the dream?""I don't know. That was the strange part of it. I awoke and I knew that I had dreamed a strange dream which was not unpleasant, but, try as hard as I would, I could not remember anything about it. What do you think that portends, Herr Philip?""I do not know. Perhaps when we want a thing so much and think about it so much the imagination, while we are asleep and the will is dead, forms a picture of it that remains in our possession when we awake. But it's just surmise. I don't know anything about it.""Nor do I," said Arenberg, "but sometimes I believe. Now I suggest that we ride toward the northwest. I believe that good hunting grounds are in that direction beyond this forest, and perhaps the Comanches may have been on the plain there, and may now be seeking shelter in this wilderness.""It's as good a theory as any," said Phil, "and we'll try it."They rode for several hours toward the northwest, passing from the region of heavy forest into that of the scrub timber, and again into heavy forest as they approached the slopes of the higher mountains. They were now at least twenty miles from The Silver Cup, and it was past midday. They had brought jerked venison with them, and they ate their noon meal on horseback. But Phil wanted water, and he saw a clear white line leading among the trees, which he thought might indicate a brook flowing under the ice and snow. He dismounted, scraped away the snow and found that he was right. He broke the ice, took a good drink, and then noticed a trail on the far side of the brook. It was unmistakably that of a single horse, and he called excitedly to Arenberg."Look, Hans," he said. "Doesn't this show that an Indian pony has passed here?"Arenberg came at once, and when he looked down at the trail his eyes sparkled with a kind of exultant joy. But he showed no excitement otherwise."It iss the trail of a single Indian pony," he said. "We will follow it. It iss not likely that a lone warrior rides in this region. He goes to join others."Phil looked closely at Arenberg. He was quite sure that his comrade considered this a sign, the first sign that had come in the long, long search. He knew how the stout heart must be throbbing within the German's powerful chest."Lead on, Hans," he said. "I think you're right."The two followed the trail at a good walk. It lay before them in the snow as plain as a railroad track. There was but little undergrowth here, and they saw far among the stems of the trees. They were quite sure that danger lay before them, since they might ride at any moment into an ambush, but they kept on without hesitation, although they watched well with two pairs of unusually keen eyes. In this manner they rode about five miles, and then Arenberg's eyes began to scintillate again. The pony's trail was merged into that of three or four more coming from the north."It iss so! It iss so!" he said softly, although excitement now showed in his tone. "The Comanches have come! Presently more riders will enter the trail, and beyond will lie their camp. Now, young Herr Philip, it iss for us to go with great care."A mile farther the trail was merged with that of at least twenty horsemen. Phil himself did not doubt that the new Indian camp lay before them. The forest was now heavy with undergrowth here and there, for which he was thankful, since it afforded hiding for Arenberg and himself, while the trail was so broad that they could not possibly miss it. There was another fortunate circumstance. They had been longer on the trail than they had realized, and the twilight was now coming fast. It already lay in deep shadows over the vast, lonely wilderness. Although he was very near, Phil saw Arenberg's figure enveloped in a sort of black mist, and the horse's feet made but little sound on the soft snow. At intervals the two stopped to listen, because there was no doubt now in the mind of either that they were close to a large Indian camp. A half hour of this, and they stopped longer than usual. Both distinctly heard a low chant. Arenberg knew that it was the song of Indian women at work."Phil," he said, "we are close by. Let us leave our horses here and steal forward. We may lose the horses or we may not, but we cannot scout on horseback close up to the Indian camp."Phil did not hesitate. They fastened the horses to swinging boughs in dense thickets, trusting them to the fortune that had been kind thus far, and then crept through the snow and among the frees toward the low sound of the chant. At the edge of a thicket of scrub cedar they knelt down and looked through the snow-laden branches into an Indian village that lay in the valley beyond.It was a broad valley, with a creek now frozen over running through it, and the village, a large one, was evidently not more than a day or two old, as many of the lodges were not yet finished. All these lodges were of buffalo skin on poles, and the squaws were still at work on some of them. Others were beating buffalo meat or deer meat before the cooking fires, and yet others dragged from the snow the dead wood that lay about plentifully. Many warriors were visible here and there amid the background of flame, but they merely lounged, leaving the work to the squaws."It may be the band of Black Panther," said Phil."I think it iss," said Arenberg, "but I also think it has been swollen by the addition of another band or two."The two were lying so close under the dwarf pines that Phil's arm was pressed against Arenberg's side, and he could feel the German trembling all over. Phil knew perfectly that it was not fear, but a powerful emotion that could thus shake the strong soul of his friend. Evidently the Indians had no thought of a foreign presence in a region so far from any settlement. A feeling of good-humor seemed to pervade the village. It was obvious that they had found game in abundance, and thus the Indian's greatest want was filled.Some of the Indian women continued the low humming chant that Phil and Arenberg had first heard, and others chattered as they worked about the fires. But Arenberg's eyes were for neither men nor women. He was watching a group of children at the outskirts. They were mostly boys, ranging in years from eight to thirteen, and, despite the darkness and the distance, he followed them with a gaze so intense, so full of longing, that it was painful to Phil who saw it. But it was impossible to distinguish. It was merely a group of Indian lads, half at play, half at work, and it would have been folly for the two to go closer.But only hope was in the soul of Arenberg. The mystic spell of the great woods was on him, and he did not believe that he had come so far merely to lose at last. Phil suddenly felt his great frame shake under a stronger quiver of emotion than before. About a third of the Indian boys, carrying tin pails or stone jars, moved up the creek."Come," whispered Arenberg, in intense excitement. "They're going after water, where it is not defiled by offal from the village! We'll follow them on this side of the creek! See, the dwarf pines continue along the bank indefinitely!"Arenberg led the way, treading softly in the snow. He was now the director, and Phil obeyed him in everything. Besides his own perception of the critical, Phil caught some of the intense excitement that surcharged every pore of Arenberg's being. He felt sure that something was going to happen. The thought was like fire in his brain.The boys moved on toward a point where the ice had been broken already. The creek curved, and the village behind them passed out of sight, although its sounds could yet be heard plainly. Directly they came to the water hole and filled the pails and jars. Arenberg's excitement was increasing. He was much closer to them now, and again he studied every figure with a concentration of vision that was extraordinary. Yet the night was already dark, the figures were indistinct, and, to Phil at least, one figure, barring size, looked just like another.The boys turned away, walked perhaps a dozen paces, and then Phil heard by his side a soft whistle, low, melodious, a bar of some quaint old song. It might have been mistaken in a summer night for the song of a bird. The boys stopped, but moved on again in a moment, thinking perhaps it was only fancy. Another ten feet, and that melodious whistle came again, lower than ever, but continuing the quaint old song. The third boy from the rear stopped and listened a little longer than the others. But the sound had been so faint, so clever an approach to the sighing of the wind among the pines, that the other boys seemed to take no notice of it. Arenberg was moving along in a parallel line with them, keeping behind the pines. Phil followed close behind him, and once more he put his hand on his arm. Now he felt, with increasing force, that the man was shaken by some tremendous internal excitement.[image]"The third boy from the rear stopped and listened"The file of Indian boys moved on, save the one who had been third from the last. He was carrying a pail of water, and he lingered, looking cautiously in the direction whence the low whistle had come. He was a small, strong figure, in Indian dress, a fur cap on his head. He seemed to be struggling with some memory, some flash out of the past. Then Arenberg, rising above the breast-work of pines, his head showing clearly over the topmost fringe, whistled a third bar of the old German folk song, so low, so faint that to Phil himself it was scarcely more than the sighing of the wind. The boy straightened up and the pail of water dropped from his hands upon the soft snow. Then he pursed his lips and whistled softly, continuing the lines of the melody.An extraordinary thrill, almost like the chill of the supernatural, ran down Phil's back, but it was nothing to the emotion that shook the German. With a sudden cry: "It iss he!" Arenberg leaped entirely over the pine bushes, ran across the frozen creek, and snatched up the boy in his arms. It was Phil then who retained his coolness, luckily for them both. He seized the fallen rifle and called:"Come! Come, Hans, come with the boy, we must ride for our lives now!"Arenberg came suddenly back to the real world and the presence of great danger, just when he had found his son. He lifted the boy in his arms, ran with him across the creek, up the slope, and through the bushes. Little Billy scarcely stirred, but remained with his arms clasped around his father's neck. Already hostile sounds were coming from the Indian camp. The Indian boys, at the sound of Arenberg's footsteps, had turned back, and had seen what had happened."We must reach the horses," cried Phil, retaining his full presence of mind. "If we can do that before they wing us we'll escape. Run ahead. I'll bring your rifle."Arenberg, despite the weight of his boy, rushed toward the horses. Phil kept close behind, carrying the two rifles. From the village came a long, fierce cry, the Comanche war whoop. Then it came back from the snowy forest in faint, dying echoes, full of menace. Phil knew that in a few moments the alert warriors would be on their ponies and in full pursuit."Faster, Hans! Faster!" he cried. "Never mind how much noise we may make now or how broad a trail we may leave! To the horses! To the horses!"The little boy was perfectly silent, clinging to his father's neck, and Arenberg himself did not speak now. In a minute they reached the horses, untied them, and sprang upon their backs, Billy, as they always called him hereafter, sitting with a sure seat behind his father. Phil handed Arenberg his rifle:"Take it," he said. "You may need it!"Arenberg received the weapon mechanically. Before, he had been the leader. Now Phil took the position. He dashed away in the forest, turning toward the east, and the hoofs of Arenberg's horse thudded on the snow at his flank. They heard behind them the second shout of the Comanches, who had now crossed the creek on their ponies. Arenberg suddenly lifted his boy about and placed him in front of him. Phil understood. If a bullet came, it was now Arenberg instead of his boy who would receive it.But it was not in vain that their horses had rested and eaten the sweet, clean grass so long. Now they obeyed the sudden call upon accumulated strength and energy, and, despite the double burden that Arenberg's horse bore, raced on at a speed that yet held the Indian ponies out of rifle shot."We must keep to the east, Hans," said Phil, "because if we brought them down on our friends at The Silver Cup we'd all be overpowered. Maybe we can shake them off. If so, we'll take a wide curve to our place. You ride a little ahead now. I can use the rifle better, as you have to look out for Billy besides yourself."Arenberg urged his horse to greater speed and continued about a length ahead of Phil. Fortunately the forest was open here, and they could go at good speed without the dangers of tripping or becoming entangled. Phil looked back for the first time. He saw at some distance a half dozen Comanches on their ponies, mere shadowy outlines in the dusk, but he knew that more were behind them. His heart sank a little, too, when he remembered the tenacity of the Indians in pursuit."They're not gaining, Hans," he said, "and if they do I'll shoot at the first who comes up. Keep a watch for a good path, and I'll follow."They galloped on an hour perhaps, and then the Indians began to yell again. Two or three fired their rifles, although the bullets fell short."Don't worry, Hans," called Phil. "They're merely trying to frighten us. They have not gained."He sent back a taunting cry, twirled his own rifle in defiance, and then remembered that it was the slender, long-barreled Kentucky weapon, the highest of its type. He took another glance backward, but this was a measuring one. "It will reach," was his thought. He turned his whole body from the hips up in his saddle, took swift aim at the leading Comanche, and fired. The white smoke puffed from the muzzle of his rifle, the report was uncommonly loud and sharp in the night, and the bullet went home. The leading Indian fell from his pony in the snow, and the pony ran away. A fierce cry of rage came from the Comanches."It was well done, Herr Philip," said Arenberg. He did not look back, but he knew from the cry of the Indians that Phil's bullet had struck its target. The Comanches dropped back somewhat, but they were still near enough to keep the two flying horses in sight. Phil and Arenberg maintained their course, which was leading far from The Silver Cup. Phil's brain was cooling with the long gallop, and his nerves were becoming steadier. The change in himself caused him to notice other changes around him.The air felt damp to his face, and the night seemed to have grown darker. He thought at first that it was mere fancy, but when he looked up he knew that it was the truth. He could not see the moon, and, just as he looked, the last star winked and went out. The damp touch on his face was that of a snowflake, and, as he still looked, the dark clouds stalked somberly across the sky."The snow! the snow," he murmured in eager prayer. "Let it come! It will save us!"Another and larger flake dropped on his face, and--after it, came more, falling fast now, large and feathery. He looked back for the last time. Not a single pursuer could be seen in the heavy gloom. He felt that their chance had come. He rode up by the side of Arenberg."Hans," he said, "turn sharp to the south. Look how the snow comes down! It is impossible for them to follow us now. It does not matter how we blunder along except that we must keep close together.""It iss good," said Arenberg, as he turned his horse's head. "The great God is putting a veil about us, and we are saved!"He spoke with unaffected solemnity, and Phil felt that his words were true. He felt, too, that they would not have escaped had it not been for the great snow that was now coming down. Surely a power had intervened in their behalf.They rode southward for about an hour through forest, comparatively free from undergrowth, the two horses keeping so close together that the knees of their riders touched. The snow continued to fall, and they went on, always in a dense white gloom, leaving to their horses the choice of the path. They stopped finally under a huge tree, where they were sheltered, in some degree, from the snow, and Arenberg made the boy more comfortable on the saddle behind."Hello, Billy," said Phil. "Do you know that you've been away from home a long time? Your father was beginning to fear that you'd never come back."The boy smiled, and, despite the Indian paint on his face, Phil saw there the blue eyes and features of Arenberg. He guessed, too, that the black hair under the cap would become gold as soon as the paint wore off."I not know at first," said Billy, speaking slowly and hesitatingly, as if it were difficult for him to remember the English language, "but the song when I hear it one, two, three times, then it come back and I answered. I knew my father, too, when he picked me up."Arenberg gave him a squeeze, then he produced from his pocket some jerked venison, which Billy ate eagerly."He's strong and hearty, that's evident," said Phil. "And, since we cannot leave any trail while the snow is pouring down in this way, I suggest that we let our horses rest for awhile, and then ride as straight as we can for The Silver Cup.""It iss well," said Arenberg. "Nothing but one chance in a thousand could bring them upon us now, and God iss so good that I do not think He will let that chance happen."Arenberg spoke very quietly, but Phil saw that the words came from his heart. The boy still preserved the singular stillness which he seemed to have learned from the Indians, but he held firmly to his father. Now and then he looked curiously at Phil. Phil chucked him under the chin and said:"Quite a snow, isn't it, Billy?""I'm not afraid of snow," rejoined the boy, in a tone that seemed to defy any kind of a storm."Good thing," said Phil, "but this is a fine snow, a particularly fine snow. It has probably saved us all.""Where are you going?" asked Billy."Where are we going?" said Phil. "Well, when this snow lightens a little we are going to ride a long distance through the woods. Perhaps we'll ride until morning. Then, when morning comes, we'll keep on riding, although it may not be in the forest. We'll make a great circle to the south, and there, at the edge of the forest, we'll come to a beautiful clear little lake that four men I know call The Silver Cup, only you can't get at the contents of that cup just now, as it has a fine ice covering. But overlooking The Silver Cup is a fine rocky hollow with a neat little thatched cabin in it. We call the hollow and the cabin The Dip, and in it are two of the four persons, your father and I being the other two."It's a fine little place, a snug little place, Billy, and there isn't any lodge anywhere on this whole continent of North America that is equal to it. There is a big flat stone at one end on which we build our fire, and just above it is a vent to carry off the smoke."Hanging about that cabin are some of the most beautiful skins and furs you ever saw. And then we have rifles and pistols and knives and hatchets, and a shovel and an ax or two, and big soft blankets, and, when we are all in the hut at night, every fellow rolled in his warm blanket, as you will be, being a brave new comrade, and when the wind roars outside, and the hail and the snow beat against it and never touch you, then you feel just about as fine as anybody can ever feel. It's surely a glorious life that's ahead of you, Billy Arenberg. Those other two fellows who are waiting for you, Billy, are as good as any you ever saw. One of them is my brother, who has just escaped from a great prison, where wicked men held him for a long time, just as you have escaped, Billy, from the savages, to whom you don't belong, and the other is the bravest, oddest, wisest, funniest man you ever saw. You can't help liking him the very first moment you see him. He talks a lot, but it's all worth hearing. Now and then he makes up queer rhymes. I don't think he could get them printed, but we like them all the same, and they always mean just what they say, which isn't generally the way of poetry. I see right now, Billy, that that man and you are going to be great friends. His name is William, just like yours, William Breakstone, but he's Bill and you are Billy. It will be fine to have a Bill and a Billy around the camp."The boy's eyes glistened. All sorts of emotion awoke within him."Won't it be fine?" he said. "I want to see that camp."Phil had spoken with purpose. He had seen what Arenberg, thinking only of his recovered son, had failed to see, that the boy, taken in his early childhood and held so long, had acquired something of the Indian nature. He had recognized his father and he had clung to him, but he was primitive and as wild as a hawk. The escape from the Indian village had been no escape for him at all, merely a transference. Phil now devoted himself to the task of calling him back to the white world to which he belonged.All the time as they rode forward in the snow, Phil talked to him of the great things that were to be seen where the white men dwelled. He made their lives infinitely grander and more varied than those of the Indians. He told of the mighty battle in which his father had been a combatant. Here the boy's eyes glistened more than ever."My father is a great warrior," he exclaimed happily."One of the greatest that ever lived," said Phil. "There were more men, Billy, at that place we call Buena Vista than all the Comanche warriors put together several times over. And there were many cannon, great guns on wheels, shooting bullets as big as your head and bigger, and the battle went on all day. You couldn't hear yourself speak, the cannon and rifles roared so terribly and without ever stopping, and the smoke was greater than that of the biggest prairie fire you ever saw, and thousands of men and horses, with long lances, charged again and again. And your father stood there all day helping to beat them back."Phil did not wish to speak so much of battle and danger, but he judged that this would appeal most to the boy, who had been taught by the Comanches that valor and fighting were the greatest of all things. The boy exclaimed:"My father is one of the greatest of all warriors! He is a chief! He and you and I and the other two of whom you speak will go with a great army and beat the Mexicans again!"Phil laughed and turned the talk more to the chase, the building of cabins in the wilderness, and of great explorations across the prairies and through the hills. He still held the interest of the boy, and Phil saw the soul of the white race growing stronger and stronger within him. Arenberg listened, too, and at last he understood. He gave his comrade a look of gratitude. That, Phil always considered one of the greatest rewards he ever received.They finally found a partial shelter in a ravine protected by trees, and here they dismounted in order to rest the horses and shake the snow from themselves. But they were not suffering from the snow. They were all warmly clad, and, as usual in the West in winter, Phil and Arenberg carried heavy blankets at their saddle horns. One of these had already been wrapped around Billy, and when they dismounted he remained clad in its folds. The fall of snow was lightening somewhat, enabling them to see perhaps twenty feet farther into it, but it was still a vast white gloom."I think it will stop before morning," said Arenberg, "and then we can make much greater speed. Are you sleepy, Billy?""I do not sleep when we are in danger," replied the boy.He spoke with such youthful pride that Phil smiled. Yet the boy meant it. His wild life had certainly harmed neither his spirit nor his body. He was taller and heavier than most boys of his age, and Phil could see that he was as wiry and sinewy as a young panther. He seemed to endure the hardships of the night quite as well as Phil or his father."Snow is warm if there is something between you and it," said Phil. "Let's scrape out a place here against the bank, throw up the snow around us in walls, and rest until daylight. It will be a little hard on the horses, but they seem to be doing fairly well there against the trees.""It iss wisdom that you speak," said Arenberg.They threw back the snow until they made a den against the cliff, and the three, wrapped from head to foot in their heavy blankets, crouched in it close together. The snow fell upon the blankets, and, at times, when it lay too thick, they threw it all off. Billy seemed perfectly contented. Either he had no awe of the wilderness, or the presence of the others was enough for him. He had all the quietness and taciturnity of a little Indian lad. He did not speak at all, and did not move. By and by his eyes closed and he slept soundly. Arenberg drew the blanket a little more closely, until only the mouth and nose showed from the blanket, his breath making a white rim around the aperture. Then Arenberg said in a whisper to Phil:"Young Herr Philip, you have helped me to get back my own. I cannot repay you.""I am repayingyou," said Phil. "You havealreadyhelped me."After that they did not speak for a long time. The snow became lighter and lighter, then it ceased entirely. The horses were quiet in the shelter of the trees, and Phil was so snug and warm that he fell into a beautiful sleep, from which he was aroused by Arenberg."It iss day, Herr Philip," he said. "Look how the sun shines on the snow."Phil drew himself out of the hole and looked at a white world, tinted silver in the early dawn."Yes, it is time for us to go," he said. "Wake Billy, and we'll ride."But Billy was already awake, his small face illumined with curiosity and interest."Now we will ride," he said to Phil, "and see the men of whom you have told me."They had some food left, and, after eating it to the last particle, they mounted their horses and rode with as much speed as was wise in the deep snow. Both Phil and Arenberg had an excellent idea of direction, and, guided by the sun, they rode straight toward The Silver Cup. But the snow was so deep and heavy that they were compelled to stop often to let their horses rest, and nearly a whole day passed before they saw the familiar trees and slopes that marked the approach to The Silver Cup. It was a glad sight. They were thoroughly exhausted with a day of plowing through the snow, and the horses were in the same condition. A trace of smoke marked the point at which The Dip lay."They're at home to callers, or at least one of them is," said Phil, "and I'll be glad to be on the inside of that hut again, with real red coals before me on a stone hearth."In order to give the horses an equal chance, Billy, through the day, had ridden alternately behind Phil and his father. Now he was behind Arenberg, and he leaned forward eagerly to see. Before him lay a sort of path trampled in the snow, and, suddenly leaping from the horse, he ran forward with the agility and speed of a deer.Bill Breakstone and John Bedford were inside the little thatched hut, and the red coals of which Phil had spoken in fancy were really burning on the hearth. They had made no search for Phil and Arenberg in the deep snow, knowing that such a thing was useless. There was not one chance in a thousand that they could find them, while Phil and Arenberg, strong, capable, and brave, were sure to come back. So they took their rest and made the place as comfortable as possible for the return of their partners, who would certainly be cold and hungry."John, keep that coffee ready to put on," said Bill Breakstone. "You know that your brother loves coffee when he comes in out of the snow and the cold.""It will be ready any minute," replied John Bedford. "And I'm glad, Bill, you thought of that little pot of tea for Arenberg. You know he loves to have it about once a week.""So I do," said Bill Breakstone. "Good old Hans. I suppose that he and Phil made a burrow somewhere in the woods, and slept in it last night. Naturally it's slow traveling back here through such a deep snow. Now what under the sun is that?"The rude door of their little thatch was suddenly thrown open, and a small painted face thrust in. But the eyes in the painted face staring at them so intently, were blue, although they did not then notice the fact."A little Indian boy," said Bill Breakstone, rising. "Probably he got lost from a band in the storm and has stumbled upon us. We wouldn't welcome a lot of warriors, but we won't repel one boy. Come in, Red Jacket, Tecumseh, Powhatan, or whatever your name may be. We won't hurt you."To his immense surprise the boy walked boldly in, came straight up to him, and said, in excellent English: "I know that you are Bill Breakstone, and I want to hear you make rhymes."Bill stared and stared. It was perhaps the first and last time in his life that he was dumfounded. But two larger figures came in immediately behind the boy, and Phil said:"Mr. William Breakstone, I wish to introduce our new friend and comrade, Master William Arenberg. As 'William' seems a trifle pompous, he is to be known as Billy to distinguish him from you, who remain the Bill that you always have been. Look this way, Billy, and you will see my brother, John Bedford."Hans Arenberg stood by, so happy that tears rose in his eyes. But Bill Breakstone came at once from his cloud of surprise. He snatched the boy up in his arms and gave him a big hug."Well, Billy," he cried, "here you are at last! I don't know how they got you, but they've brought you. Now my first duty as housekeeper is to wash our little boy's face."He took water from a pail and promptly cleaned all the paint off Billy's face. Then Billy stood forth a white and not an Indian boy, and, with the departure of the paint, nearly all that was left of his acquired Indian nature seemed to go, too. While Phil and Arenberg told the story of the new miracle, he made himself easily at home, examining everything in the hut with minute care, and, by his actions, notifying Bill Breakstone and John Bedford that he was ready at once for a cordial friendship."Tea is ready! So is coffee," announced Bill Breakstone presently. "Now sit down, eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow you may not have such a good chance."They charged with avidity, and little Billy Arenberg proved that he was already a mighty trencherman in the making."I wish I had some German blood in me, then I could eat with a fair appetite," said Bill Breakstone, as he reached for a huge buffalo steak.CHAPTER XXIIBREAKSTONE'S QUESTIt was nearly night, and they quickly agreed that they must not remain any longer in The Dip, however comfortable it might be. The Comanches were bound to find them in time, and the longer their lead the better."The night is going to be clear," said Breakstone, "and we must leave just as soon as we can pack our things on our horses. Everything indicates that the country toward the west slopes down rapidly, and we may soon pass out of the area of deep snow. Besides, we want to go toward the west. It's my turn now, and my search lies there.""It iss so," said Arenberg with deep feeling. "You have helped all the rest of us, and we would not be fit to live if we did not now help you.""I knew that you would not think of anything else," said Breakstone simply. "I'll tell you about it a little later, but now we'll start as soon as we can, and maybe we can come back some day and enjoy The Silver Cup again."The horses were brought from the sheltered valley, and their provisions and other supplies were strapped on them. They soon discovered that Billy knew how to ride very well, and the gentlest of the horses was assigned to him, although he slept during the early part of the night. But when he was roused he was full of zeal and interest, and he was also so alert and active that he proved himself a help instead of a burden.At midnight, they put out the fire and left a cold hearth. Then, with some reluctant glances backward at The Dip and the snowy cover of The Silver Cup, they rode away in single file, Breakstone leading, Phil next, followed by John, behind whom came Billy, with Arenberg at the rear. It was cold, but they were sufficiently clad, and they rode on until daylight, the dry snow crunching beneath the hoofs of their horses.The descent proved to be sharp, and when daylight came they were in a region where the snow was very light. They saw the plains before them and below them, and they believed that by noon they would be entirely beyond the expanse of snow."By the time those Comanches discover our abandoned home," said Bill Breakstone, "it's likely that we'll be days and days away. We'll never see them again because our journey leads west and always west, far beyond the Comanche country.""I learned from Billy," said Phil, "that it was really Black Panther who was in command back there. Billy had been with another band, farther west, which last spring was incorporated into the more powerful force of Black Panther. The chief was treating Billy well, and was going to adopt him as his son.""Then I am glad that we shall fight no more with Black Panther," said Arenberg."So am I," said Breakstone thoughtfully. "I suppose the chief has acted according to his lights. If we'd been roaming over the country for ages, we'd fight for it, too. Well, good-by to you, Black Panther, I wish you many a good buffalo hunt, but that no white people may fall into your hands."At noon, as they had expected, they passed through the last thin sheet of snow and entered warm country. But it was not desert here. It was a region of buffalo grass, with shallow streams and scattered timber. It was very pleasant after so much riding through the snow, and, after resting an hour by the side of one of the rivulets, they kept on until night. They were not compelled to spend any time in hunting a camp, but stopped under a clump of trees, turned the horses loose to graze on the plentiful grass, and spread their own blankets on the turf. They were too tired to light a fire, but they ate heartily of the cold food, and then lay back comfortably on the blankets. Billy fell asleep in a few minutes, but the others did not yet feel the desire for slumber. The ride of a day and half a night had not been hard, but, as much of that ride had been downward, the change was wonderful. Gone was the deep snow, gone the biting winds. They wrestled with neither the ice nor the desert, but lay upon a carpet of pine needles and breathed an air that came, crisp with life, from the mountains. Bill Breakstone luxuriated in it, and finally, observing that the others were not asleep, he sat up."Boys," he said, "I think the time has come for me to tell you about the errand that has brought me so far, and that's going to take me a lot farther. I haven't said anything about the nature of it before, because it was the one that could wait longest. Sit up and look at what I'm going to show you."They sat up on their blankets, and he took from his pocket a little package which he unwrapped and looked at a moment or two. Then he poured the contents out upon his blanket. They looked like gravel or grains of stone, but the moon was good then, and from some of the grains came a slight metallic glitter, like pin-points of light."That," said Bill Breakstone in deeply impressive tones, "is gold.""It looks more like gravel to me," said John Bedford."It is gravel, too," said Breakstone, "gravel, and gold in the gravel.""About how much iss your gold worth?" asked Arenberg skeptically."Fifty cents, maybe," replied Bill Breakstone."Which wouldn't carry you far.""No, it wouldn't," said Breakstone genially. "But see here, my merry Dutchman, a man may have a million dollars in the bank, and carry only a dime in his pocket. That's me. This is my sample, my specimen. It came from a spot far away, but there's a million more, or something like it, there waiting for us. Listen to me, Sir Philip of the River and the Plain, Sir Hans of the Forest and the Snow, and even you, Sir John of the Castle and the Cell, and I will tell you a glittering tale which is true."Every one moved forward a few inches on his blanket, and their figures grew tense with interest. The moon sent a broad shaft of light through an opening in the trees directly upon the face of Bill Breakstone, showing eyes that sparkled with the pleasure of one who held a great secret that he was willing to tell to others."I'm not joking," continued Bill Breakstone earnestly. "I'm a rover, but I find when I rove. There's gold, lots of it, far west across the great mountains in California. You find it in the sand and gravel along the edges of streams which are dry most of the year. A man can generally do the work all by himself, with water and a pan, sifting the gold dust from the baser stuff."It's a terribly wild country of hills and of tremendously high mountains covered with snow. When the snow melts and the water comes down into these dry creek and river beds it comes with a mighty rush, and it washes the gold from the rocks along with it. At least, that's my theory, and the gold has been piling up for ages in dust and grains along the edges of these beds in the valleys below. I found this dust in a wild country about a thousand miles from here, but I can go straight back to the place."The others were continually creeping a little nearer and a little nearer on their blankets, and the moonlight which found new openings through the trees showed three more pairs of eyes sparkling with excitement."Why did you come away after you found the gold?" asked Phil."Because I lacked supplies. Because I was alone. Because California belonged to the Mexicans. Because the Indians were dangerous to one man. Any of these reasons was good enough, but we can take supplies in abundance. I will not be alone. I doubt very much whether California now belongs to the Mexicans, or will belong to them much longer, and it is very likely that the Indians have wandered off into some other region. Boys, after so many dangers we'll all be rich.""But, Bill," said Phil, "we can't take your gold, which you found after so much hardship and danger."Bill Breakstone gave Phil Bedford a threatening look."I wish you to listen to a few words of wisdom," he said in a menacing tone, "and take care that you listen well. If I hear any more such foolishness from you, Sir Philip of the River and the Plain, you'll lose your golden spurs and your silver breastplate and your steel helmet and all your titles. You'll be degraded into the position of a common varlet to pull off my shoes, to bring me the mead to quaff, and to have a spear shaft broken over your wooden head when you're not bright and lively. And to you, Hans Arenberg, I give the same advice. I'll make you the King's Jester, and, with that solemn Prussian face of yours and that solemn Prussian mind of yours, you'll find jesting for me about as hard a task as any man ever undertook. And you, John Bedford, I will deliver bound hand and foot to your friend Captain Pedro de Armijo with the great red scar across his face which you put there. What a crisp little revenge he would take! I can see you now frying over the coals.""But, Bill," persisted Phil, "it's your find.""I know it, but you needn't think that ends everything. It's only the beginning. We've got to get back to that dead river of mine, and for that I need comrades. We've got to do weeks and weeks of work, and for that I need comrades. We've got to fight off danger, Indians perhaps, Mexicans perhaps, outlaws perhaps, and for that I need comrades. After we get the gold we've got to bring it safely to civilization, and for that I need comrades. Also, there is so much of the gold in the bed of the dead river that I could not spend it all alone, and for that I need comrades. Now will you come willingly and share and share alike with me, or shall I have to yoke up together and drive you unwillingly?""We'll come," said Phil, and John and Arenberg added their assent."I wish the Captain was with us, too," said Bill Breakstone. "He belongs in this crowd, and he ought to have some of the gold."Phil and Arenberg echoed his regret at the absence of Middleton."Now that it is all settled," said Bill Breakstone, "I'm going to sleep."In five minutes he was sound in slumber, and the others soon followed him to that pleasant land.They resumed their journey the next morning, but they advanced in leisurely fashion. Breakstone warned them that there were other high ranges ahead, and they agreed that it would not be wise to attempt their passage in winter. Hence, they must find a winter home in some sheltered spot, where the three requisites of wild life, wood, water, and game, could be found. It did not take them long to find such a place, and they built a rude cabin, using it as their base during the remainder of the winter, which was mild, as they were not at a great elevation. Although they made an occasional scout, they never found any Indian sign, and the cold weather passed in comparative ease and safety. Little Billy developed at a remarkable rate, and here he sloughed off the last vestige of the Indian. But he had learned many cunning arts in hunting, trapping, and fishing which he never forgot, and there were some things pertaining to these in which he could instruct his elders.Not a single hunter, trapper, or rover of any kind passed through during the winter months, and they often wondered what was going on in the world without."I'd surely like to see the Captain again," said Bill Breakstone one cold evening as they sat by their fire. "Just to think of all that he went through with us, and now he's vanished into thin air. Maybe he's dead, killed in some battle a thousand miles down in Mexico.""I don't believe the Captain is killed," spoke up Phil promptly. "I don't believe that he's the kind of man who would be killed. But a lot of things must have happened since we left. There must have been some big fighting away down there by the City of Mexico. Do you think we could have been whipped, Bill?""Phil, I've half a mind to take away all your titles without another word," replied Breakstone reprovingly. "How could you think of our being whipped, after what you saw at Buena Vista?""That's so," said Phil, his cheerfulness coming back at once.Late in the spring they began the passage of the ranges, and although it was a long, hard, and sometimes dangerous task, they got safely across with all their horses, coming again into a plains country, which merged farther west into a desert. Here they were about to make a great loop northward, around the Mexican settlements, when they met an American soldier carrying dispatches. They hailed him, and, when he stopped, they rode forward, all eagerness. It was deputed to Bill Breakstone to ask the momentous question, and he asked it:"How is the war going on?"The soldier looked at them, amused little crinkles at the corners of his mouth. He knew by their appearance that these were people who had been long in the wilderness."It isn't getting on at all," he replied."What!" cried Bill Breakstone appalled."It isn't going on, because it's all over. General Scott marched straight to the City of Mexico. He fought a half dozen terrible battles, but he won every one of them, and then took the City of Mexico itself. A treaty of peace was signed February 2 last. You are riding now on American soil. New Mexico, Arizona, California, and vast regions to the north of us have been ceded to the United States.""Hurrah!" they cried together, Billy joining in with as much enthusiasm as the others."What about Santa Fé?" asked Bill Breakstone."It's occupied by an American garrison, and there is complete peace everywhere. The only danger is from wandering Indians.""We know how to fight them," said Bill Breakstone. "Boys, we ride for Santa Fé."The soldier continued northward, and they turned the heads of their horses toward the New Mexico capital, reaching, in good time and without loss, the queer little old Spanish and Indian town from which the flags of Spain and then of Mexico had disappeared forever. They intended to remain only two or three days in order to obtain more horses and fresh supplies. Then they would slip quietly out of the town, because they wished their errand to be known to nobody. On the second day Bill Breakstone and Phil were walking together, when a man in sober civilian dress suddenly seized a hand of each in a firm grasp, and exclaimed in joy:"Why, boys, when did you come here?""The Captain!" exclaimed Bill Breakstone. "How things do come around!"It was Middleton, his very self, thinner and browner, but with the same fine open countenance and alert look. Bill and his comrade explained rapidly about the rescue of John Bedford, the recovery of little Billy Arenberg, and their passage through the mountains."And now," said Breakstone, "you tell us, Captain, how you happen to be up here in Santa Fé in civilian dress."Middleton smiled a little sadly as he replied:"The war is over. We won many brilliant victories. We were never beaten once. And I'm glad it's over, but there is nothing left for the majority of the younger officers. I should probably remain a captain all the rest of my life at some obscure frontier station, and so I've resigned from the army."A light leaped up in Bill Breakstone's eyes, but he asked very quietly:"And what are you meaning to do now, Captain?""I don't know, but I've been hearing talk about gold in California, and perhaps I'll go there to hunt it.""Of course you will!" exclaimed Bill Breakstone, letting himself go. "You're going to start to-morrow, and you're going with us. I know right where that gold is, and I'm going to lead you and the rest of the boys to it. You remember that every one of us had a quest that drew us into the West. The secret of the gold is mine. We need you and we share alike. As I've told the others, there's enough for all."Middleton was easily persuaded, and they left Santa Fé the next morning before daylight, taking little Billy Arenberg with them. They traveled a long time toward the northwest, crossing mountains and deserts, until they reached the mighty range of the Sierra Nevada. This, too, they crossed without accident or loss, and then Bill Breakstone led them straight to the dead river and up its channel to the hidden gold. Here he dug in the bank and showed them the result."Am I right or am I wrong?" he asked exultantly."Right!" they replied with one voice.At first they washed out the gold, but afterward they used both the cradle and the sluice methods. The deposits were uncommonly rich, and they worked there all through the summer and winter. The next spring, Middleton and Arenberg carried a great treasure of gold on horses to San Francisco. They also took Billy Arenberg with them, but on their way back they left him, to his huge regret, at a good school in Sacramento, while they rejoined their comrades on the great Breakstone claim. They exhausted it in another year, but they were all now as rich as they wished to be, and they descended into the beautiful valley of California, where they expected to make their homes.
CHAPTER XXI
THE NOTE OF A MELODY
Phil and Arenberg were undertaking this journey because they wished to make one of their usual thorough scouts. It merely happened to be their day, as John and Breakstone had gone on the day preceding. They were well wrapped up, with their ear-muffs on and with big moccasins that they had made to go over their shoes. The snow was very light and dry, and offered little obstacle to the horses, which were fat and strong with good feeding.
"We certainly leave a fine trail, Hans," said Phil, looking back at the impressions made by their horse's hoofs.
"It iss so," said Arenberg, "but since we hunt people it iss not our object to hide ourselves. Do you notice how beautiful iss the forest, Herr Philip? All the trees are white with the snow. It iss a great tracery, silver sometimes and gold sometimes as the sun falls, and it extends farther than we can see. It must often have been such as this in the great Teutonic forest where my ancestors dwelled thousands of years ago. Here in these woods I have this feeling at times, as if the centuries were rolled back, and last night I dreamed a strange dream."
"What was the dream?"
"I don't know. That was the strange part of it. I awoke and I knew that I had dreamed a strange dream which was not unpleasant, but, try as hard as I would, I could not remember anything about it. What do you think that portends, Herr Philip?"
"I do not know. Perhaps when we want a thing so much and think about it so much the imagination, while we are asleep and the will is dead, forms a picture of it that remains in our possession when we awake. But it's just surmise. I don't know anything about it."
"Nor do I," said Arenberg, "but sometimes I believe. Now I suggest that we ride toward the northwest. I believe that good hunting grounds are in that direction beyond this forest, and perhaps the Comanches may have been on the plain there, and may now be seeking shelter in this wilderness."
"It's as good a theory as any," said Phil, "and we'll try it."
They rode for several hours toward the northwest, passing from the region of heavy forest into that of the scrub timber, and again into heavy forest as they approached the slopes of the higher mountains. They were now at least twenty miles from The Silver Cup, and it was past midday. They had brought jerked venison with them, and they ate their noon meal on horseback. But Phil wanted water, and he saw a clear white line leading among the trees, which he thought might indicate a brook flowing under the ice and snow. He dismounted, scraped away the snow and found that he was right. He broke the ice, took a good drink, and then noticed a trail on the far side of the brook. It was unmistakably that of a single horse, and he called excitedly to Arenberg.
"Look, Hans," he said. "Doesn't this show that an Indian pony has passed here?"
Arenberg came at once, and when he looked down at the trail his eyes sparkled with a kind of exultant joy. But he showed no excitement otherwise.
"It iss the trail of a single Indian pony," he said. "We will follow it. It iss not likely that a lone warrior rides in this region. He goes to join others."
Phil looked closely at Arenberg. He was quite sure that his comrade considered this a sign, the first sign that had come in the long, long search. He knew how the stout heart must be throbbing within the German's powerful chest.
"Lead on, Hans," he said. "I think you're right."
The two followed the trail at a good walk. It lay before them in the snow as plain as a railroad track. There was but little undergrowth here, and they saw far among the stems of the trees. They were quite sure that danger lay before them, since they might ride at any moment into an ambush, but they kept on without hesitation, although they watched well with two pairs of unusually keen eyes. In this manner they rode about five miles, and then Arenberg's eyes began to scintillate again. The pony's trail was merged into that of three or four more coming from the north.
"It iss so! It iss so!" he said softly, although excitement now showed in his tone. "The Comanches have come! Presently more riders will enter the trail, and beyond will lie their camp. Now, young Herr Philip, it iss for us to go with great care."
A mile farther the trail was merged with that of at least twenty horsemen. Phil himself did not doubt that the new Indian camp lay before them. The forest was now heavy with undergrowth here and there, for which he was thankful, since it afforded hiding for Arenberg and himself, while the trail was so broad that they could not possibly miss it. There was another fortunate circumstance. They had been longer on the trail than they had realized, and the twilight was now coming fast. It already lay in deep shadows over the vast, lonely wilderness. Although he was very near, Phil saw Arenberg's figure enveloped in a sort of black mist, and the horse's feet made but little sound on the soft snow. At intervals the two stopped to listen, because there was no doubt now in the mind of either that they were close to a large Indian camp. A half hour of this, and they stopped longer than usual. Both distinctly heard a low chant. Arenberg knew that it was the song of Indian women at work.
"Phil," he said, "we are close by. Let us leave our horses here and steal forward. We may lose the horses or we may not, but we cannot scout on horseback close up to the Indian camp."
Phil did not hesitate. They fastened the horses to swinging boughs in dense thickets, trusting them to the fortune that had been kind thus far, and then crept through the snow and among the frees toward the low sound of the chant. At the edge of a thicket of scrub cedar they knelt down and looked through the snow-laden branches into an Indian village that lay in the valley beyond.
It was a broad valley, with a creek now frozen over running through it, and the village, a large one, was evidently not more than a day or two old, as many of the lodges were not yet finished. All these lodges were of buffalo skin on poles, and the squaws were still at work on some of them. Others were beating buffalo meat or deer meat before the cooking fires, and yet others dragged from the snow the dead wood that lay about plentifully. Many warriors were visible here and there amid the background of flame, but they merely lounged, leaving the work to the squaws.
"It may be the band of Black Panther," said Phil.
"I think it iss," said Arenberg, "but I also think it has been swollen by the addition of another band or two."
The two were lying so close under the dwarf pines that Phil's arm was pressed against Arenberg's side, and he could feel the German trembling all over. Phil knew perfectly that it was not fear, but a powerful emotion that could thus shake the strong soul of his friend. Evidently the Indians had no thought of a foreign presence in a region so far from any settlement. A feeling of good-humor seemed to pervade the village. It was obvious that they had found game in abundance, and thus the Indian's greatest want was filled.
Some of the Indian women continued the low humming chant that Phil and Arenberg had first heard, and others chattered as they worked about the fires. But Arenberg's eyes were for neither men nor women. He was watching a group of children at the outskirts. They were mostly boys, ranging in years from eight to thirteen, and, despite the darkness and the distance, he followed them with a gaze so intense, so full of longing, that it was painful to Phil who saw it. But it was impossible to distinguish. It was merely a group of Indian lads, half at play, half at work, and it would have been folly for the two to go closer.
But only hope was in the soul of Arenberg. The mystic spell of the great woods was on him, and he did not believe that he had come so far merely to lose at last. Phil suddenly felt his great frame shake under a stronger quiver of emotion than before. About a third of the Indian boys, carrying tin pails or stone jars, moved up the creek.
"Come," whispered Arenberg, in intense excitement. "They're going after water, where it is not defiled by offal from the village! We'll follow them on this side of the creek! See, the dwarf pines continue along the bank indefinitely!"
Arenberg led the way, treading softly in the snow. He was now the director, and Phil obeyed him in everything. Besides his own perception of the critical, Phil caught some of the intense excitement that surcharged every pore of Arenberg's being. He felt sure that something was going to happen. The thought was like fire in his brain.
The boys moved on toward a point where the ice had been broken already. The creek curved, and the village behind them passed out of sight, although its sounds could yet be heard plainly. Directly they came to the water hole and filled the pails and jars. Arenberg's excitement was increasing. He was much closer to them now, and again he studied every figure with a concentration of vision that was extraordinary. Yet the night was already dark, the figures were indistinct, and, to Phil at least, one figure, barring size, looked just like another.
The boys turned away, walked perhaps a dozen paces, and then Phil heard by his side a soft whistle, low, melodious, a bar of some quaint old song. It might have been mistaken in a summer night for the song of a bird. The boys stopped, but moved on again in a moment, thinking perhaps it was only fancy. Another ten feet, and that melodious whistle came again, lower than ever, but continuing the quaint old song. The third boy from the rear stopped and listened a little longer than the others. But the sound had been so faint, so clever an approach to the sighing of the wind among the pines, that the other boys seemed to take no notice of it. Arenberg was moving along in a parallel line with them, keeping behind the pines. Phil followed close behind him, and once more he put his hand on his arm. Now he felt, with increasing force, that the man was shaken by some tremendous internal excitement.
[image]"The third boy from the rear stopped and listened"
[image]
[image]
"The third boy from the rear stopped and listened"
The file of Indian boys moved on, save the one who had been third from the last. He was carrying a pail of water, and he lingered, looking cautiously in the direction whence the low whistle had come. He was a small, strong figure, in Indian dress, a fur cap on his head. He seemed to be struggling with some memory, some flash out of the past. Then Arenberg, rising above the breast-work of pines, his head showing clearly over the topmost fringe, whistled a third bar of the old German folk song, so low, so faint that to Phil himself it was scarcely more than the sighing of the wind. The boy straightened up and the pail of water dropped from his hands upon the soft snow. Then he pursed his lips and whistled softly, continuing the lines of the melody.
An extraordinary thrill, almost like the chill of the supernatural, ran down Phil's back, but it was nothing to the emotion that shook the German. With a sudden cry: "It iss he!" Arenberg leaped entirely over the pine bushes, ran across the frozen creek, and snatched up the boy in his arms. It was Phil then who retained his coolness, luckily for them both. He seized the fallen rifle and called:
"Come! Come, Hans, come with the boy, we must ride for our lives now!"
Arenberg came suddenly back to the real world and the presence of great danger, just when he had found his son. He lifted the boy in his arms, ran with him across the creek, up the slope, and through the bushes. Little Billy scarcely stirred, but remained with his arms clasped around his father's neck. Already hostile sounds were coming from the Indian camp. The Indian boys, at the sound of Arenberg's footsteps, had turned back, and had seen what had happened.
"We must reach the horses," cried Phil, retaining his full presence of mind. "If we can do that before they wing us we'll escape. Run ahead. I'll bring your rifle."
Arenberg, despite the weight of his boy, rushed toward the horses. Phil kept close behind, carrying the two rifles. From the village came a long, fierce cry, the Comanche war whoop. Then it came back from the snowy forest in faint, dying echoes, full of menace. Phil knew that in a few moments the alert warriors would be on their ponies and in full pursuit.
"Faster, Hans! Faster!" he cried. "Never mind how much noise we may make now or how broad a trail we may leave! To the horses! To the horses!"
The little boy was perfectly silent, clinging to his father's neck, and Arenberg himself did not speak now. In a minute they reached the horses, untied them, and sprang upon their backs, Billy, as they always called him hereafter, sitting with a sure seat behind his father. Phil handed Arenberg his rifle:
"Take it," he said. "You may need it!"
Arenberg received the weapon mechanically. Before, he had been the leader. Now Phil took the position. He dashed away in the forest, turning toward the east, and the hoofs of Arenberg's horse thudded on the snow at his flank. They heard behind them the second shout of the Comanches, who had now crossed the creek on their ponies. Arenberg suddenly lifted his boy about and placed him in front of him. Phil understood. If a bullet came, it was now Arenberg instead of his boy who would receive it.
But it was not in vain that their horses had rested and eaten the sweet, clean grass so long. Now they obeyed the sudden call upon accumulated strength and energy, and, despite the double burden that Arenberg's horse bore, raced on at a speed that yet held the Indian ponies out of rifle shot.
"We must keep to the east, Hans," said Phil, "because if we brought them down on our friends at The Silver Cup we'd all be overpowered. Maybe we can shake them off. If so, we'll take a wide curve to our place. You ride a little ahead now. I can use the rifle better, as you have to look out for Billy besides yourself."
Arenberg urged his horse to greater speed and continued about a length ahead of Phil. Fortunately the forest was open here, and they could go at good speed without the dangers of tripping or becoming entangled. Phil looked back for the first time. He saw at some distance a half dozen Comanches on their ponies, mere shadowy outlines in the dusk, but he knew that more were behind them. His heart sank a little, too, when he remembered the tenacity of the Indians in pursuit.
"They're not gaining, Hans," he said, "and if they do I'll shoot at the first who comes up. Keep a watch for a good path, and I'll follow."
They galloped on an hour perhaps, and then the Indians began to yell again. Two or three fired their rifles, although the bullets fell short.
"Don't worry, Hans," called Phil. "They're merely trying to frighten us. They have not gained."
He sent back a taunting cry, twirled his own rifle in defiance, and then remembered that it was the slender, long-barreled Kentucky weapon, the highest of its type. He took another glance backward, but this was a measuring one. "It will reach," was his thought. He turned his whole body from the hips up in his saddle, took swift aim at the leading Comanche, and fired. The white smoke puffed from the muzzle of his rifle, the report was uncommonly loud and sharp in the night, and the bullet went home. The leading Indian fell from his pony in the snow, and the pony ran away. A fierce cry of rage came from the Comanches.
"It was well done, Herr Philip," said Arenberg. He did not look back, but he knew from the cry of the Indians that Phil's bullet had struck its target. The Comanches dropped back somewhat, but they were still near enough to keep the two flying horses in sight. Phil and Arenberg maintained their course, which was leading far from The Silver Cup. Phil's brain was cooling with the long gallop, and his nerves were becoming steadier. The change in himself caused him to notice other changes around him.
The air felt damp to his face, and the night seemed to have grown darker. He thought at first that it was mere fancy, but when he looked up he knew that it was the truth. He could not see the moon, and, just as he looked, the last star winked and went out. The damp touch on his face was that of a snowflake, and, as he still looked, the dark clouds stalked somberly across the sky.
"The snow! the snow," he murmured in eager prayer. "Let it come! It will save us!"
Another and larger flake dropped on his face, and--after it, came more, falling fast now, large and feathery. He looked back for the last time. Not a single pursuer could be seen in the heavy gloom. He felt that their chance had come. He rode up by the side of Arenberg.
"Hans," he said, "turn sharp to the south. Look how the snow comes down! It is impossible for them to follow us now. It does not matter how we blunder along except that we must keep close together."
"It iss good," said Arenberg, as he turned his horse's head. "The great God is putting a veil about us, and we are saved!"
He spoke with unaffected solemnity, and Phil felt that his words were true. He felt, too, that they would not have escaped had it not been for the great snow that was now coming down. Surely a power had intervened in their behalf.
They rode southward for about an hour through forest, comparatively free from undergrowth, the two horses keeping so close together that the knees of their riders touched. The snow continued to fall, and they went on, always in a dense white gloom, leaving to their horses the choice of the path. They stopped finally under a huge tree, where they were sheltered, in some degree, from the snow, and Arenberg made the boy more comfortable on the saddle behind.
"Hello, Billy," said Phil. "Do you know that you've been away from home a long time? Your father was beginning to fear that you'd never come back."
The boy smiled, and, despite the Indian paint on his face, Phil saw there the blue eyes and features of Arenberg. He guessed, too, that the black hair under the cap would become gold as soon as the paint wore off.
"I not know at first," said Billy, speaking slowly and hesitatingly, as if it were difficult for him to remember the English language, "but the song when I hear it one, two, three times, then it come back and I answered. I knew my father, too, when he picked me up."
Arenberg gave him a squeeze, then he produced from his pocket some jerked venison, which Billy ate eagerly.
"He's strong and hearty, that's evident," said Phil. "And, since we cannot leave any trail while the snow is pouring down in this way, I suggest that we let our horses rest for awhile, and then ride as straight as we can for The Silver Cup."
"It iss well," said Arenberg. "Nothing but one chance in a thousand could bring them upon us now, and God iss so good that I do not think He will let that chance happen."
Arenberg spoke very quietly, but Phil saw that the words came from his heart. The boy still preserved the singular stillness which he seemed to have learned from the Indians, but he held firmly to his father. Now and then he looked curiously at Phil. Phil chucked him under the chin and said:
"Quite a snow, isn't it, Billy?"
"I'm not afraid of snow," rejoined the boy, in a tone that seemed to defy any kind of a storm.
"Good thing," said Phil, "but this is a fine snow, a particularly fine snow. It has probably saved us all."
"Where are you going?" asked Billy.
"Where are we going?" said Phil. "Well, when this snow lightens a little we are going to ride a long distance through the woods. Perhaps we'll ride until morning. Then, when morning comes, we'll keep on riding, although it may not be in the forest. We'll make a great circle to the south, and there, at the edge of the forest, we'll come to a beautiful clear little lake that four men I know call The Silver Cup, only you can't get at the contents of that cup just now, as it has a fine ice covering. But overlooking The Silver Cup is a fine rocky hollow with a neat little thatched cabin in it. We call the hollow and the cabin The Dip, and in it are two of the four persons, your father and I being the other two.
"It's a fine little place, a snug little place, Billy, and there isn't any lodge anywhere on this whole continent of North America that is equal to it. There is a big flat stone at one end on which we build our fire, and just above it is a vent to carry off the smoke.
"Hanging about that cabin are some of the most beautiful skins and furs you ever saw. And then we have rifles and pistols and knives and hatchets, and a shovel and an ax or two, and big soft blankets, and, when we are all in the hut at night, every fellow rolled in his warm blanket, as you will be, being a brave new comrade, and when the wind roars outside, and the hail and the snow beat against it and never touch you, then you feel just about as fine as anybody can ever feel. It's surely a glorious life that's ahead of you, Billy Arenberg. Those other two fellows who are waiting for you, Billy, are as good as any you ever saw. One of them is my brother, who has just escaped from a great prison, where wicked men held him for a long time, just as you have escaped, Billy, from the savages, to whom you don't belong, and the other is the bravest, oddest, wisest, funniest man you ever saw. You can't help liking him the very first moment you see him. He talks a lot, but it's all worth hearing. Now and then he makes up queer rhymes. I don't think he could get them printed, but we like them all the same, and they always mean just what they say, which isn't generally the way of poetry. I see right now, Billy, that that man and you are going to be great friends. His name is William, just like yours, William Breakstone, but he's Bill and you are Billy. It will be fine to have a Bill and a Billy around the camp."
The boy's eyes glistened. All sorts of emotion awoke within him.
"Won't it be fine?" he said. "I want to see that camp."
Phil had spoken with purpose. He had seen what Arenberg, thinking only of his recovered son, had failed to see, that the boy, taken in his early childhood and held so long, had acquired something of the Indian nature. He had recognized his father and he had clung to him, but he was primitive and as wild as a hawk. The escape from the Indian village had been no escape for him at all, merely a transference. Phil now devoted himself to the task of calling him back to the white world to which he belonged.
All the time as they rode forward in the snow, Phil talked to him of the great things that were to be seen where the white men dwelled. He made their lives infinitely grander and more varied than those of the Indians. He told of the mighty battle in which his father had been a combatant. Here the boy's eyes glistened more than ever.
"My father is a great warrior," he exclaimed happily.
"One of the greatest that ever lived," said Phil. "There were more men, Billy, at that place we call Buena Vista than all the Comanche warriors put together several times over. And there were many cannon, great guns on wheels, shooting bullets as big as your head and bigger, and the battle went on all day. You couldn't hear yourself speak, the cannon and rifles roared so terribly and without ever stopping, and the smoke was greater than that of the biggest prairie fire you ever saw, and thousands of men and horses, with long lances, charged again and again. And your father stood there all day helping to beat them back."
Phil did not wish to speak so much of battle and danger, but he judged that this would appeal most to the boy, who had been taught by the Comanches that valor and fighting were the greatest of all things. The boy exclaimed:
"My father is one of the greatest of all warriors! He is a chief! He and you and I and the other two of whom you speak will go with a great army and beat the Mexicans again!"
Phil laughed and turned the talk more to the chase, the building of cabins in the wilderness, and of great explorations across the prairies and through the hills. He still held the interest of the boy, and Phil saw the soul of the white race growing stronger and stronger within him. Arenberg listened, too, and at last he understood. He gave his comrade a look of gratitude. That, Phil always considered one of the greatest rewards he ever received.
They finally found a partial shelter in a ravine protected by trees, and here they dismounted in order to rest the horses and shake the snow from themselves. But they were not suffering from the snow. They were all warmly clad, and, as usual in the West in winter, Phil and Arenberg carried heavy blankets at their saddle horns. One of these had already been wrapped around Billy, and when they dismounted he remained clad in its folds. The fall of snow was lightening somewhat, enabling them to see perhaps twenty feet farther into it, but it was still a vast white gloom.
"I think it will stop before morning," said Arenberg, "and then we can make much greater speed. Are you sleepy, Billy?"
"I do not sleep when we are in danger," replied the boy.
He spoke with such youthful pride that Phil smiled. Yet the boy meant it. His wild life had certainly harmed neither his spirit nor his body. He was taller and heavier than most boys of his age, and Phil could see that he was as wiry and sinewy as a young panther. He seemed to endure the hardships of the night quite as well as Phil or his father.
"Snow is warm if there is something between you and it," said Phil. "Let's scrape out a place here against the bank, throw up the snow around us in walls, and rest until daylight. It will be a little hard on the horses, but they seem to be doing fairly well there against the trees."
"It iss wisdom that you speak," said Arenberg.
They threw back the snow until they made a den against the cliff, and the three, wrapped from head to foot in their heavy blankets, crouched in it close together. The snow fell upon the blankets, and, at times, when it lay too thick, they threw it all off. Billy seemed perfectly contented. Either he had no awe of the wilderness, or the presence of the others was enough for him. He had all the quietness and taciturnity of a little Indian lad. He did not speak at all, and did not move. By and by his eyes closed and he slept soundly. Arenberg drew the blanket a little more closely, until only the mouth and nose showed from the blanket, his breath making a white rim around the aperture. Then Arenberg said in a whisper to Phil:
"Young Herr Philip, you have helped me to get back my own. I cannot repay you."
"I am repayingyou," said Phil. "You havealreadyhelped me."
After that they did not speak for a long time. The snow became lighter and lighter, then it ceased entirely. The horses were quiet in the shelter of the trees, and Phil was so snug and warm that he fell into a beautiful sleep, from which he was aroused by Arenberg.
"It iss day, Herr Philip," he said. "Look how the sun shines on the snow."
Phil drew himself out of the hole and looked at a white world, tinted silver in the early dawn.
"Yes, it is time for us to go," he said. "Wake Billy, and we'll ride."
But Billy was already awake, his small face illumined with curiosity and interest.
"Now we will ride," he said to Phil, "and see the men of whom you have told me."
They had some food left, and, after eating it to the last particle, they mounted their horses and rode with as much speed as was wise in the deep snow. Both Phil and Arenberg had an excellent idea of direction, and, guided by the sun, they rode straight toward The Silver Cup. But the snow was so deep and heavy that they were compelled to stop often to let their horses rest, and nearly a whole day passed before they saw the familiar trees and slopes that marked the approach to The Silver Cup. It was a glad sight. They were thoroughly exhausted with a day of plowing through the snow, and the horses were in the same condition. A trace of smoke marked the point at which The Dip lay.
"They're at home to callers, or at least one of them is," said Phil, "and I'll be glad to be on the inside of that hut again, with real red coals before me on a stone hearth."
In order to give the horses an equal chance, Billy, through the day, had ridden alternately behind Phil and his father. Now he was behind Arenberg, and he leaned forward eagerly to see. Before him lay a sort of path trampled in the snow, and, suddenly leaping from the horse, he ran forward with the agility and speed of a deer.
Bill Breakstone and John Bedford were inside the little thatched hut, and the red coals of which Phil had spoken in fancy were really burning on the hearth. They had made no search for Phil and Arenberg in the deep snow, knowing that such a thing was useless. There was not one chance in a thousand that they could find them, while Phil and Arenberg, strong, capable, and brave, were sure to come back. So they took their rest and made the place as comfortable as possible for the return of their partners, who would certainly be cold and hungry.
"John, keep that coffee ready to put on," said Bill Breakstone. "You know that your brother loves coffee when he comes in out of the snow and the cold."
"It will be ready any minute," replied John Bedford. "And I'm glad, Bill, you thought of that little pot of tea for Arenberg. You know he loves to have it about once a week."
"So I do," said Bill Breakstone. "Good old Hans. I suppose that he and Phil made a burrow somewhere in the woods, and slept in it last night. Naturally it's slow traveling back here through such a deep snow. Now what under the sun is that?"
The rude door of their little thatch was suddenly thrown open, and a small painted face thrust in. But the eyes in the painted face staring at them so intently, were blue, although they did not then notice the fact.
"A little Indian boy," said Bill Breakstone, rising. "Probably he got lost from a band in the storm and has stumbled upon us. We wouldn't welcome a lot of warriors, but we won't repel one boy. Come in, Red Jacket, Tecumseh, Powhatan, or whatever your name may be. We won't hurt you."
To his immense surprise the boy walked boldly in, came straight up to him, and said, in excellent English: "I know that you are Bill Breakstone, and I want to hear you make rhymes."
Bill stared and stared. It was perhaps the first and last time in his life that he was dumfounded. But two larger figures came in immediately behind the boy, and Phil said:
"Mr. William Breakstone, I wish to introduce our new friend and comrade, Master William Arenberg. As 'William' seems a trifle pompous, he is to be known as Billy to distinguish him from you, who remain the Bill that you always have been. Look this way, Billy, and you will see my brother, John Bedford."
Hans Arenberg stood by, so happy that tears rose in his eyes. But Bill Breakstone came at once from his cloud of surprise. He snatched the boy up in his arms and gave him a big hug.
"Well, Billy," he cried, "here you are at last! I don't know how they got you, but they've brought you. Now my first duty as housekeeper is to wash our little boy's face."
He took water from a pail and promptly cleaned all the paint off Billy's face. Then Billy stood forth a white and not an Indian boy, and, with the departure of the paint, nearly all that was left of his acquired Indian nature seemed to go, too. While Phil and Arenberg told the story of the new miracle, he made himself easily at home, examining everything in the hut with minute care, and, by his actions, notifying Bill Breakstone and John Bedford that he was ready at once for a cordial friendship.
"Tea is ready! So is coffee," announced Bill Breakstone presently. "Now sit down, eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow you may not have such a good chance."
They charged with avidity, and little Billy Arenberg proved that he was already a mighty trencherman in the making.
"I wish I had some German blood in me, then I could eat with a fair appetite," said Bill Breakstone, as he reached for a huge buffalo steak.
CHAPTER XXII
BREAKSTONE'S QUEST
It was nearly night, and they quickly agreed that they must not remain any longer in The Dip, however comfortable it might be. The Comanches were bound to find them in time, and the longer their lead the better.
"The night is going to be clear," said Breakstone, "and we must leave just as soon as we can pack our things on our horses. Everything indicates that the country toward the west slopes down rapidly, and we may soon pass out of the area of deep snow. Besides, we want to go toward the west. It's my turn now, and my search lies there."
"It iss so," said Arenberg with deep feeling. "You have helped all the rest of us, and we would not be fit to live if we did not now help you."
"I knew that you would not think of anything else," said Breakstone simply. "I'll tell you about it a little later, but now we'll start as soon as we can, and maybe we can come back some day and enjoy The Silver Cup again."
The horses were brought from the sheltered valley, and their provisions and other supplies were strapped on them. They soon discovered that Billy knew how to ride very well, and the gentlest of the horses was assigned to him, although he slept during the early part of the night. But when he was roused he was full of zeal and interest, and he was also so alert and active that he proved himself a help instead of a burden.
At midnight, they put out the fire and left a cold hearth. Then, with some reluctant glances backward at The Dip and the snowy cover of The Silver Cup, they rode away in single file, Breakstone leading, Phil next, followed by John, behind whom came Billy, with Arenberg at the rear. It was cold, but they were sufficiently clad, and they rode on until daylight, the dry snow crunching beneath the hoofs of their horses.
The descent proved to be sharp, and when daylight came they were in a region where the snow was very light. They saw the plains before them and below them, and they believed that by noon they would be entirely beyond the expanse of snow.
"By the time those Comanches discover our abandoned home," said Bill Breakstone, "it's likely that we'll be days and days away. We'll never see them again because our journey leads west and always west, far beyond the Comanche country."
"I learned from Billy," said Phil, "that it was really Black Panther who was in command back there. Billy had been with another band, farther west, which last spring was incorporated into the more powerful force of Black Panther. The chief was treating Billy well, and was going to adopt him as his son."
"Then I am glad that we shall fight no more with Black Panther," said Arenberg.
"So am I," said Breakstone thoughtfully. "I suppose the chief has acted according to his lights. If we'd been roaming over the country for ages, we'd fight for it, too. Well, good-by to you, Black Panther, I wish you many a good buffalo hunt, but that no white people may fall into your hands."
At noon, as they had expected, they passed through the last thin sheet of snow and entered warm country. But it was not desert here. It was a region of buffalo grass, with shallow streams and scattered timber. It was very pleasant after so much riding through the snow, and, after resting an hour by the side of one of the rivulets, they kept on until night. They were not compelled to spend any time in hunting a camp, but stopped under a clump of trees, turned the horses loose to graze on the plentiful grass, and spread their own blankets on the turf. They were too tired to light a fire, but they ate heartily of the cold food, and then lay back comfortably on the blankets. Billy fell asleep in a few minutes, but the others did not yet feel the desire for slumber. The ride of a day and half a night had not been hard, but, as much of that ride had been downward, the change was wonderful. Gone was the deep snow, gone the biting winds. They wrestled with neither the ice nor the desert, but lay upon a carpet of pine needles and breathed an air that came, crisp with life, from the mountains. Bill Breakstone luxuriated in it, and finally, observing that the others were not asleep, he sat up.
"Boys," he said, "I think the time has come for me to tell you about the errand that has brought me so far, and that's going to take me a lot farther. I haven't said anything about the nature of it before, because it was the one that could wait longest. Sit up and look at what I'm going to show you."
They sat up on their blankets, and he took from his pocket a little package which he unwrapped and looked at a moment or two. Then he poured the contents out upon his blanket. They looked like gravel or grains of stone, but the moon was good then, and from some of the grains came a slight metallic glitter, like pin-points of light.
"That," said Bill Breakstone in deeply impressive tones, "is gold."
"It looks more like gravel to me," said John Bedford.
"It is gravel, too," said Breakstone, "gravel, and gold in the gravel."
"About how much iss your gold worth?" asked Arenberg skeptically.
"Fifty cents, maybe," replied Bill Breakstone.
"Which wouldn't carry you far."
"No, it wouldn't," said Breakstone genially. "But see here, my merry Dutchman, a man may have a million dollars in the bank, and carry only a dime in his pocket. That's me. This is my sample, my specimen. It came from a spot far away, but there's a million more, or something like it, there waiting for us. Listen to me, Sir Philip of the River and the Plain, Sir Hans of the Forest and the Snow, and even you, Sir John of the Castle and the Cell, and I will tell you a glittering tale which is true."
Every one moved forward a few inches on his blanket, and their figures grew tense with interest. The moon sent a broad shaft of light through an opening in the trees directly upon the face of Bill Breakstone, showing eyes that sparkled with the pleasure of one who held a great secret that he was willing to tell to others.
"I'm not joking," continued Bill Breakstone earnestly. "I'm a rover, but I find when I rove. There's gold, lots of it, far west across the great mountains in California. You find it in the sand and gravel along the edges of streams which are dry most of the year. A man can generally do the work all by himself, with water and a pan, sifting the gold dust from the baser stuff.
"It's a terribly wild country of hills and of tremendously high mountains covered with snow. When the snow melts and the water comes down into these dry creek and river beds it comes with a mighty rush, and it washes the gold from the rocks along with it. At least, that's my theory, and the gold has been piling up for ages in dust and grains along the edges of these beds in the valleys below. I found this dust in a wild country about a thousand miles from here, but I can go straight back to the place."
The others were continually creeping a little nearer and a little nearer on their blankets, and the moonlight which found new openings through the trees showed three more pairs of eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Why did you come away after you found the gold?" asked Phil.
"Because I lacked supplies. Because I was alone. Because California belonged to the Mexicans. Because the Indians were dangerous to one man. Any of these reasons was good enough, but we can take supplies in abundance. I will not be alone. I doubt very much whether California now belongs to the Mexicans, or will belong to them much longer, and it is very likely that the Indians have wandered off into some other region. Boys, after so many dangers we'll all be rich."
"But, Bill," said Phil, "we can't take your gold, which you found after so much hardship and danger."
Bill Breakstone gave Phil Bedford a threatening look.
"I wish you to listen to a few words of wisdom," he said in a menacing tone, "and take care that you listen well. If I hear any more such foolishness from you, Sir Philip of the River and the Plain, you'll lose your golden spurs and your silver breastplate and your steel helmet and all your titles. You'll be degraded into the position of a common varlet to pull off my shoes, to bring me the mead to quaff, and to have a spear shaft broken over your wooden head when you're not bright and lively. And to you, Hans Arenberg, I give the same advice. I'll make you the King's Jester, and, with that solemn Prussian face of yours and that solemn Prussian mind of yours, you'll find jesting for me about as hard a task as any man ever undertook. And you, John Bedford, I will deliver bound hand and foot to your friend Captain Pedro de Armijo with the great red scar across his face which you put there. What a crisp little revenge he would take! I can see you now frying over the coals."
"But, Bill," persisted Phil, "it's your find."
"I know it, but you needn't think that ends everything. It's only the beginning. We've got to get back to that dead river of mine, and for that I need comrades. We've got to do weeks and weeks of work, and for that I need comrades. We've got to fight off danger, Indians perhaps, Mexicans perhaps, outlaws perhaps, and for that I need comrades. After we get the gold we've got to bring it safely to civilization, and for that I need comrades. Also, there is so much of the gold in the bed of the dead river that I could not spend it all alone, and for that I need comrades. Now will you come willingly and share and share alike with me, or shall I have to yoke up together and drive you unwillingly?"
"We'll come," said Phil, and John and Arenberg added their assent.
"I wish the Captain was with us, too," said Bill Breakstone. "He belongs in this crowd, and he ought to have some of the gold."
Phil and Arenberg echoed his regret at the absence of Middleton.
"Now that it is all settled," said Bill Breakstone, "I'm going to sleep."
In five minutes he was sound in slumber, and the others soon followed him to that pleasant land.
They resumed their journey the next morning, but they advanced in leisurely fashion. Breakstone warned them that there were other high ranges ahead, and they agreed that it would not be wise to attempt their passage in winter. Hence, they must find a winter home in some sheltered spot, where the three requisites of wild life, wood, water, and game, could be found. It did not take them long to find such a place, and they built a rude cabin, using it as their base during the remainder of the winter, which was mild, as they were not at a great elevation. Although they made an occasional scout, they never found any Indian sign, and the cold weather passed in comparative ease and safety. Little Billy developed at a remarkable rate, and here he sloughed off the last vestige of the Indian. But he had learned many cunning arts in hunting, trapping, and fishing which he never forgot, and there were some things pertaining to these in which he could instruct his elders.
Not a single hunter, trapper, or rover of any kind passed through during the winter months, and they often wondered what was going on in the world without.
"I'd surely like to see the Captain again," said Bill Breakstone one cold evening as they sat by their fire. "Just to think of all that he went through with us, and now he's vanished into thin air. Maybe he's dead, killed in some battle a thousand miles down in Mexico."
"I don't believe the Captain is killed," spoke up Phil promptly. "I don't believe that he's the kind of man who would be killed. But a lot of things must have happened since we left. There must have been some big fighting away down there by the City of Mexico. Do you think we could have been whipped, Bill?"
"Phil, I've half a mind to take away all your titles without another word," replied Breakstone reprovingly. "How could you think of our being whipped, after what you saw at Buena Vista?"
"That's so," said Phil, his cheerfulness coming back at once.
Late in the spring they began the passage of the ranges, and although it was a long, hard, and sometimes dangerous task, they got safely across with all their horses, coming again into a plains country, which merged farther west into a desert. Here they were about to make a great loop northward, around the Mexican settlements, when they met an American soldier carrying dispatches. They hailed him, and, when he stopped, they rode forward, all eagerness. It was deputed to Bill Breakstone to ask the momentous question, and he asked it:
"How is the war going on?"
The soldier looked at them, amused little crinkles at the corners of his mouth. He knew by their appearance that these were people who had been long in the wilderness.
"It isn't getting on at all," he replied.
"What!" cried Bill Breakstone appalled.
"It isn't going on, because it's all over. General Scott marched straight to the City of Mexico. He fought a half dozen terrible battles, but he won every one of them, and then took the City of Mexico itself. A treaty of peace was signed February 2 last. You are riding now on American soil. New Mexico, Arizona, California, and vast regions to the north of us have been ceded to the United States."
"Hurrah!" they cried together, Billy joining in with as much enthusiasm as the others.
"What about Santa Fé?" asked Bill Breakstone.
"It's occupied by an American garrison, and there is complete peace everywhere. The only danger is from wandering Indians."
"We know how to fight them," said Bill Breakstone. "Boys, we ride for Santa Fé."
The soldier continued northward, and they turned the heads of their horses toward the New Mexico capital, reaching, in good time and without loss, the queer little old Spanish and Indian town from which the flags of Spain and then of Mexico had disappeared forever. They intended to remain only two or three days in order to obtain more horses and fresh supplies. Then they would slip quietly out of the town, because they wished their errand to be known to nobody. On the second day Bill Breakstone and Phil were walking together, when a man in sober civilian dress suddenly seized a hand of each in a firm grasp, and exclaimed in joy:
"Why, boys, when did you come here?"
"The Captain!" exclaimed Bill Breakstone. "How things do come around!"
It was Middleton, his very self, thinner and browner, but with the same fine open countenance and alert look. Bill and his comrade explained rapidly about the rescue of John Bedford, the recovery of little Billy Arenberg, and their passage through the mountains.
"And now," said Breakstone, "you tell us, Captain, how you happen to be up here in Santa Fé in civilian dress."
Middleton smiled a little sadly as he replied:
"The war is over. We won many brilliant victories. We were never beaten once. And I'm glad it's over, but there is nothing left for the majority of the younger officers. I should probably remain a captain all the rest of my life at some obscure frontier station, and so I've resigned from the army."
A light leaped up in Bill Breakstone's eyes, but he asked very quietly:
"And what are you meaning to do now, Captain?"
"I don't know, but I've been hearing talk about gold in California, and perhaps I'll go there to hunt it."
"Of course you will!" exclaimed Bill Breakstone, letting himself go. "You're going to start to-morrow, and you're going with us. I know right where that gold is, and I'm going to lead you and the rest of the boys to it. You remember that every one of us had a quest that drew us into the West. The secret of the gold is mine. We need you and we share alike. As I've told the others, there's enough for all."
Middleton was easily persuaded, and they left Santa Fé the next morning before daylight, taking little Billy Arenberg with them. They traveled a long time toward the northwest, crossing mountains and deserts, until they reached the mighty range of the Sierra Nevada. This, too, they crossed without accident or loss, and then Bill Breakstone led them straight to the dead river and up its channel to the hidden gold. Here he dug in the bank and showed them the result.
"Am I right or am I wrong?" he asked exultantly.
"Right!" they replied with one voice.
At first they washed out the gold, but afterward they used both the cradle and the sluice methods. The deposits were uncommonly rich, and they worked there all through the summer and winter. The next spring, Middleton and Arenberg carried a great treasure of gold on horses to San Francisco. They also took Billy Arenberg with them, but on their way back they left him, to his huge regret, at a good school in Sacramento, while they rejoined their comrades on the great Breakstone claim. They exhausted it in another year, but they were all now as rich as they wished to be, and they descended into the beautiful valley of California, where they expected to make their homes.