CHAPTER VIIINEW ENEMIESThe two were in splendid spirits. They had escaped great dangers, and they were on horseback once more. It is true, they were somewhat short on armament, but Breakstone took Phil's pistol, while the latter kept the rifle, and they were confident that they could find game enough on the plains until they overtook the wagon train. The horses themselves seemed glad of the companionship of their old masters, and went forward readily and at an easy pace through the woods. They soon found the path by which they had come, and followed it until they crossed the river and reached the site of the camp. But the trail toward the plain lay before them broad and easy."They can't have gone long," said Breakstone. "They may have thought that we were merely loitering behind for some purpose of our own and would soon overtake them. A whole train isn't going to linger about for two fellows well mounted and well armed who are supposed to know how to take care of themselves. But, Sir Philip of the Youthful Countenance, I don't think that Middleton and Arenberg would go ahead without us.""Neither do I," said Phil with emphasis. "I as good as know that they're looking for us in these woods, and we've got to stay behind and find them, taking the risk of Comanches.""Wherein I do heartily agree with you, and I'm going to take a chance right now. It is likely that the two, after fruitless searches for us, would return here at intervals, and, in a region like this, the sound of a shot will travel far. Fire the rifle, Phil, and it may bring them. It's often used as a signal. If it brings the Comanches instead, we're on our horses, and they're strong and swift."Phil fired a shot, but there was no response. He waited half an hour and fired a second time, with the same result. After another half hour, the third shot was fired, and, four or five minutes later, Breakstone announced that he heard the tread of hoofs. It was a faint, distant sound, but Phil, too, heard it, and he was confident that it was made by hoofs. The two looked at each other, and each read the question in the other's eye. Who were coming in reply to the call of that third rifle shot, red men or white?"We'll just draw back a little behind this clump of bushes," said Breakstone. "We can see a long way through their tops, and not be seen until the riders come very close. Then, if the visitors to this Forest of Arden of ours, Sir Philip, are not those whom we wish to see, it's up and away with us."They waited in strained eagerness. The sounds grew louder. It was certain, moreover, that the riders were coming straight toward the point at which the rifle had been fired."Judging from the hoof beats, how many would you say they are?" asked Phil."Not many. Maybe three or four, certainly not more. But I'm hoping that it's two, neither more nor less."On came the horsemen, the hoofbeats steadily growing louder. Phil rose in his stirrups and gained a further view. He saw the top of a soft hat and then the top of another. In a half minute the faces beneath came into view. He knew them both, and he uttered a cry of joy."Middleton and Arenberg!" he exclaimed. "Here they come!""Our luck still holds good," said Bill Breakstone. He and Phil galloped from behind the bushes and shouted as warm a welcome as men ever had. They received one equally warm in return, as Middleton and the German urged their horses forward. Then there was a mighty shaking of hands and mutual congratulations."The train left yesterday morning," said Middleton, "but we couldn't give you up. We scouted all the way across the forest and saw the Comanches on the other side. There was nothing to indicate anything unusual among them, such as a sacrifice of prisoners, and we hoped that if you had been taken by them you had escaped, and we came back here to see, knowing that if you were able you would return to this place. We were right in one part of our guess, because here you are.""And mighty glad we are to be here," said Bill Breakstone, "and I want to say to you that I, Bill Breakstone, who may not be of so much importance to the world, but who is of vast importance to himself, would not be here at all, or anywhere else, for that matter, if it were not for this valiant and skillful youth, Sir Philip Bedford, Knight of the Texas plains.""Stop, Bill," exclaimed Phil blushing. "Don't talk that way.""Talk that way! Of course I will! And I'll pile it up, too! And after I pile it up and keep on piling it up, it won't be the whole truth. Cap, and you, Hans, old fellow, Phil and I were not taken together, because Phil was never taken at all. It was I alone who sat still, shut my eyes, and closed my ears while I let three of the ugliest Comanche warriors that were ever born walk up, lay violent hands on me, harness me up in all sorts of thongs and withes, and carry me off to their village, where they would have had some red sport with me if Phil hadn't come, when they were all mad with a great dance, and taken me away."Then he told the story in detail, and Phil, shy and blushing, was compelled to receive their compliments, which were many and sincere. But he insisted that he merely succeeded through good luck, which Bill Breakstone warmly denied."Well, between the two of you, you have certainly got out of it well," said Middleton, "and, as we are reunited, we must plan for the next step. We can easily overtake the train by to-morrow, but I'm of the opinion that we'll have to be very careful, and that we must do some scouting, also. Arenberg and I have discovered that the Comanche warriors are on the move again. Their whole force of warriors seemed to be getting ready to leave the village, and they may be planning, after all, a second attack upon the train, a night surprise, or something of that kind. We, too, will have to be careful lest we run into them.""Then it maybe for the good of the train that we were left back here," said Phil, "because we will return with a warning.""It may be the hand of Providence," said Arenberg, "since the Comanches did no harm where much was intended."As both Middleton and Arenberg were firmly convinced that the plain would be thick with Comanche scouts, making their passage by daylight impossible, or at least extremely hazardous, they decided to remain in the woods until nightfall. They rode a couple of miles from the camp, tethered their horses in thick bushes, and, sitting near them, waited placidly. Phil Breakstone, and Arenberg talked in low tones, but Middleton sat silent. Phil noticed presently that "The Cap" was preoccupied. Little lines of thought ran down from his eyes to the corners of his nose.Phil began to wonder again about the nature of Middleton's mission. Every one of the four was engaged upon some great quest, and none of them knew the secret of any of the others. Nor, in the rush of events, had they been left much time to think about such matters.Now Phil again studied Middleton more closely. There was something in the unaccustomed lines of his face and his thoughtful eye indicating a belief that for him, at least, the object of the quest might be drawing nigh. At least, it seemed so to the boy. He studied, too, Middleton's clean cut face, and the sharp line of his strong chin. Phil had noticed before that this man was uncommonly neat in his personal appearance. It was a neatness altogether beyond what one usually saw on the plains. His clothing was always clean and in order, he carried a razor, and he shaved every day. Nor did he ever walk with a slovenly, lounging gait.Phil decided that something very uncommon must have sent him with the Santa Fé train, but he would not ask; he had far too much delicacy to pry into the secret of another, who did not pry into his own.Middleton and Arenberg had ample food in their saddlebags and Phil and Breakstone combined with it their stock of deer meat. Nothing disturbed them in the thicket, and at nightfall they mounted and rode out into the plain."I know something about this country before us," said Breakstone. "It runs on in rolling swells for a march of many days, without any streams except shallow creeks, and without any timber except the fringes of cottonwoods along these creeks.""And I know which way to go in order to overtake the train," said Middleton. "Woodfall said that they would head straight west, and we are certainly good enough plainsmen to keep our noses pointed that way.""We are, we surely are," said Bill Breakstone, "but we must keep a good watch for those Comanche scouts. They hide behind the swells on their ponies, and they blend so well with the dusky earth that you'd never notice 'em until they had passed the signal on to others that you were coming and that it was a good time to form an ambush."There was a fair sky, with a moon and some clear stars, and they could see several hundred yards, but beyond that the whole horizon fused into a dusky wall. They rode at a long, swinging pace, and the hoofs of their horses made little noise on the new spring turf. The wind of the plains, which seldom ceases, blew gently in their faces and brought with it a soft crooning sound. Its note was very pleasant in the ears of Philip Bedford. In the saddle and with his best friends again, he felt that he could defy anything. He felt, too, and perhaps the feeling was due to his physical well-being and recovered safety, that he, also, was coming nearer to the object of his quest. Involuntarily he put his left hand on his coat, where the paper which he had read so often lay securely in a little inside pocket. He knew every word of it by heart, but when the time came, and he was alone, he would take it out and read it again. It was this paper that was always calling to him.They rode on, crossing swell after swell, and, after the first hour, the four did not talk. It was likely that every one was thinking of his own secret.They came about midnight to a prairie creek, a stream of water two or three yards wide and a few inches deep, flowing in a bed of sand perhaps fifteen yards across. A thin fringe of low cottonwoods and some willows grew on either shore. They approached warily, knowing that such a place offered a good ambush, and realizing that four would not have much chance against a large Comanche war band."But I don't think there is much danger," said Bill Breakstone. "If the Comanches are up to mischief again, they're not looking for stray parties; their mind is on the train, and, by the way, the train has passed along here. Look down, and in this moonlight you can see plainly enough the tracks of a hundred wheels.""The horses are confident," said Middleton, "and I think we can be so, too."The horses were advancing without hesitation, and it soon became evident that nothing was concealed among the scanty lines of trees and bushes."Look out for quicksands," said Arenberg. "It iss not pleasant to be swallowed up in one of them and feel that you have died such a useless death.""There is no danger," said Phil, whose quick eye was following the trail of the wagons. "Here is where the train crossed, and if the wagons didn't sink we won't."The water being cold and entirely free from alkali, the horses drank eagerly, and their riders, also, took the chance to refill their canteens, which they always carried strapped to their saddle bows. They also rested awhile, but, when they remounted and rode on, Middleton noticed a light to the northward. On the plains then, no man would pass a light without giving it particular attention, and the four sat on their horses for some minutes studying it closely. They thought at first that it might be a signal light of the Comanches, but, as it did not waver, they concluded that it must be a camp fire."Now I'm thinking," said Bill Breakstone, "that we oughtn't to leave a camp fire burning away here on the plains, and we not knowing anything about it. It won't take us long to ride up and inspect it.""That is a truth," said Middleton. "It is not a difficult matter for four horsemen to overtake a wagon train, but we'll first see what that fire means.""It iss our duty to do so," said the phlegmatic German.They rode straight toward the light, and their belief that it was a camp fire was soon confirmed. They saw the red blaze rising and quivering, and then dusky figures passing and repassing before it."We're yet too far away to tell exactly what those figures are," said Bill Breakstone, "but I don't see any sign of long hair or war bonnets, and so I take it that they are not Comanches, nor any other kind of Indians, for that matter. No warriors would build so careless a fire or wander so carelessly about it."They are white men," said Middleton with conviction, as he increased his horse's pace. "Ah, I see now! Mexicans! Look at the shadows of their great conical hats as they pass before the fire.""Now I wonder what they're doing here on Texas soil," said Bill Breakstone.Middleton did not answer, but Phil noticed that the look in his eyes was singularly tense and eager. As they drew near the fire, which was a large one, and the hoof-beats of their horses were heard, two men in Mexican. dress, tall conical broad-brimmed hats, embroidered coats and trousers and riding boots, bearing great spurs, came forward to meet them. Phil saw another figure, which had been lying on a blanket by the fire, rise and stand at attention. He instantly perceived, even then, something familiar in the figure.The four rode boldly forward, and Middleton called out:"We are friends!"The two Mexicans who were in advance, rifle in hand, stood irresolutely, and glanced at the man behind them, who had just risen from his blanket."You are welcome," said this man in good English but with a strong Mexican accent. "We are glad for anybody to share with us our camp fire in this wilderness. Dismount, Señores."Then Phil knew him well. It was Pedro de Armijo, the young Mexican whom he had seen with the Mexican envoy, Zucorra, in New Orleans, one whom he had instinctively disliked, one whom he was exceedingly astonished to see at such a time and place. Middleton also recognized him, because he raised his cap and said politely:"This is a pleasant meeting. You are Captain Pedro de Armijo, who came to our capital with His Excellency Don Augustin Xavier Hernando Zucorra on a mission, intended to be of benefit to both our countries. My name is Middleton, George Middleton, and these are my friends, Mr. Breakstone, Mr. Arenberg, and Mr. Bedford."De Armijo gave every one in turn a quick scrutinizing look, and, with flowing compliment, bade them welcome to his fireside. It seemed that he did not remember Middleton, but that he took for granted their former meeting in Washington. Phil liked him none the more because of the polite words he used. He was not one to hold prejudice because of race, but this Mexican had a manner supercilious and conceited that inspired resentment."It seems strange, Señor Middleton," said de Armijo, "that we should meet again in such a place on these vast plains, so far from a house or any other human beings, plains that were once Mexican, but which you now call yours."De Armijo glided over the last words smoothly, but the blood leaped in Phil's temples. Middleton apparently took no notice, but said that he and his comrades were riding across the plains mainly on an exploring expedition. As there was some danger from Comanches, they were traveling partly by night, and, having seen the camp fire, they had come to investigate it, after the custom of the wilderness."And, now that you have found us," said de Armijo with elaborate courtesy, "I have reason to believe that you would run into Comanche horsemen a little farther on. They would not harm us Mexicans, with whom they are at peace, but for you Americans they would have little mercy. Stay with us for the remainder of the night."He smiled, showing his white teeth, and Middleton smiled back as he replied:"Your courtesy is appreciated, Captain de Armijo. We shall stay. It is pleasant, too, to welcome a gallant Mexican officer like yourself to American soil."The eyes of de Armijo snapped in the firelight, and the white teeth were bared again. Phil knew that he resented the expression "American soil." Mexico still maintained a claim to Texas--which it could not make good--and he felt equally confident that Middleton had used it purposely. It seemed to him that some sort of duel was in progress between the two, and he watched it with overwhelming curiosity. But de Armijo quickly returned to his polite manner."You speak the truth," he said. "It is I who am your guest, not you who are mine. It was Mexican soil once, and before that Spanish--three centuries under our race--but now gone, I suppose, forever."Middleton did not reply, but approached the fire and warmed his hands over the blaze. The night was cold and the flames looked cheerful. The others tethered their horses, and all except the two who had met the Americans took their places by the fire. The Mexicans were six in number. Only de Armijo seemed to be a man of any distinction. The others, although stalwart and well armed, were evidently of the peon class. Phil wondered what this little party was doing here, and the conviction grew upon him that the meeting had something to do with Middleton's mission."I am sorry," said de Armijo, "that we do not even have a tent to offer you, but doubtless you are accustomed to sleeping under the open sky, and the air of these plains is dry and healthy.""A blanket and a few coals to warm one's feet are sufficient," said Middleton. "We will avail ourselves of your courtesy and not keep you awake any longer."Both Breakstone and Arenberg glanced at Middleton, but they said nothing, wrapping themselves in their blankets, and lying down, with their feet to the fire. Phil did the same, but he thought it a strange proceeding, this apparently unguarded camping with Mexicans, who at the best were not friends, with the possibility of Comanches who were, at all times, the bitterest and most dangerous of enemies. Yet Middleton must have some good reason, he was not a man to do anything rash or foolish, and Phil awaited the issue with confidence.Phil could not sleep. The meeting had stirred him too much, and his nerves would not relax. He lay before the fire, his feet within a yard of the coals, and his head in the crook of his arm. Now and then he heard a horse move or stamp his hoofs, but all the men were silent. De Armijo, lying on a blanket and with a fine blue cavalry cloak spread over him, seemed to be asleep, but as he was on the other side of the fire Phil could not see his eyes. Middleton was nearer, and he saw his chest rising and falling with the regularity of one who sleeps.It all seemed very peaceful, very restful. Perhaps de Armijo's hospitality was real, and he had wronged him with his suspicions. But reason with himself as he would, Phil could not overcome his dislike and distrust. Something was wrong, and something was going to happen, yet much time passed and nothing happened. De Armijo's eyes were still shaded by his cloak, but his long figure lay motionless. Only a few live coals remained from the fire, and beyond a radius of twenty feet lay the encircling rim of the darkness. At the line where light and dark met, crouched the two peons with their rifles across their knees. It was Phil's opinion that they, too, slept in this sitting posture. Surely de Armijo and his men had great confidence in their security, and must be on the best of terms with the Comanches! If so, it might increase the safety of the little American party, also, but the boy yet wondered why Middleton had stopped when they were all so eager to reach the wagon train and warn it of the new danger.Phil stirred once or twice, but only to ease his position, and he did it without noise. His eyes were shaded by the brim of his soft hat, but he watched the circle about the fire, and most of all he watched de Armijo. An interminable period of time passed, every second growing to ten times its proper length. Phil was as wakeful as ever, but so much watching made the figures about the fire dim and uncertain. They seemed to shift their places, but the boy was still resolved to keep awake, although everybody else slept through the night. His premonition was yet with him, his heart expanded, and his pulse beat faster.The remaining coals died one by one. The circle of light, already small, contracted still more, became a point, and then vanished. Everything now lay in the dark, and the figures were merely blacker shapes against the blackness. Then, after that long waiting, with every second and minute drawn out tenfold, Phil's premonition came true. Something happened.De Armijo moved. He moved ever so slightly, but Phil saw him, and, lying perfectly still himself, he watched him with an absorbed attention, and a heart that had increased its beating still further. De Armijo's body itself had not moved, it was merely one hand that had come slowly from under the covering of the cloak, and that now lay white against the blue cloth. A man might move his hand thus in sleep, but it seemed to Phil that the action was guided by a conscious mind. Intent, he watched, and presently his reward came. The other hand also slid from beneath the cloak, and, like its fellow, lay white against the blue cloth. Now both hands were still, but Phil yet waited, confident that more would come. It was all very quiet and slow, like the craft and cunning of the Indian, but Phil was willing to match it with a patience and craft of his own.At last the whole figure of de Armijo stirred. Phil saw the blue cloak tremble slightly. Then the man raised his head ever so little and looked about the dark circle. Slowly he let the head fall back, and the figure became still again. But the boy was not deceived. Already every suspicion had been verified in his mind, and his premonition was proved absolutely true.Pedro de Armijo raised himself again, but a little higher this time, and he did not let his head and body drop back. He looked about the circle with a gaze that Phil knew must be sharp and scrutinizing, although it was too dark for him to see the expression of his eyes. The Mexican seemed satisfied with his second examination, and then, dropping softly on his hands and knees, he crept toward Middleton. It occurred to Phil afterward that this approach toward Middleton did not surprise him. In reality, it was just what he had expected de Armijo to do.The boy was uncertain about his own course, and, like one under a spell, he waited. The dusky figure of de Armijo creeping toward Middleton had a sinuous motion like that of a great snake, and Phil's hand slipped down to the hammer of his rifle, but he would not fire. He noticed that de Armijo had drawn no weapon, and he did not believe that murder was his intention.Middleton did not move. He lay easily upon his right side, and Phil judged that he was in a sound sleep. De Armijo, absorbed in his task, did not look back. Hence he did not see the boy who rose slowly to a sitting posture, a ready rifle in his hands.Phil saw de Armijo reach Middleton's side and pause there a moment or two. He still drew no weapon, and this was further proof that murder was not in the Mexican's mind, but Phil believed that whatever lay between these two was now at the edge of the crisis. He saw de Armijo raise his hand and put it to Middleton's breast with the evident intention of opening his coat. So he was a thief! But the fingers stopped there as Phil leveled his rifle and called sharply:"Hands up, de Armijo, or I shoot!"The startled Mexican would have thrown up his hands, but he did not have time. They were seized in the powerful grasp of Middleton, and he was pulled downward upon his face."Ah, would you, de Armijo!" cried Middleton in exultant tones. "We have caught you! Good boy, Phil, you were watching, too!""All the others were up in an instant, but Breakstone and Arenberg were too quick for the Mexicans. They covered them with their rifle muzzles before their antagonists could raise their weapons."Throw down every gun and pistol!" said Breakstone sternly. "There, by the log, and we'll see what's going forward!"Sullenly the Mexicans complied, and then stood in a little huddled group, looking at their fallen leader, whom Middleton still held upon the ground, but who was pouring out muffled oaths from a face that was in the dirt."Take his pistols, Phil," said Middleton, and the boy promptly removed them. Then Middleton released him, and de Armijo sat up, his face black as night, his heart raging with anger, hate, and humiliation."How dare you attack me in my own camp! You whom we received as guests!" he cried."We did not attack you," replied Middleton calmly. He had risen to his feet, and he towered over the Mexican like an accusing judge. "It is you who attacked us, or me, rather, and you intended, if you did not get what you wanted with smooth fingers, to use violence. You cannot deny that, Captain Pedro de Armijo of the Mexican army; there were at least two witnesses of your act, Philip Bedford and myself."De Armijo looked down at the ground, and seemed to commune with himself for a few moments. Then he stood at his full height, brushed the traces of dirt from his clothes, and gave Middleton a look of uncompromising defiance and hostility. All at once it struck Phil that this was a man of ability and energy, one who could be a bitter and dangerous enemy."You are right in part, Captain Middleton," said de Armijo slowly. "I was seeking to take the maps, letters, and instructions that you carry inside your tunic, next, perhaps, to your very flesh. They would be valuable possessions to us, and it was my duty, as a captain in the Mexican army, to take them if I could, from you, a captain in the American army."Phil started and looked anew at Middleton. A captain in the American army! This was why he had walked with that upright carriage! This was why he had been so particular about his personal appearance! He began to see a little way."We, too, have our channels of information," said de Armijo, "and I knew that you had embarked upon a mission in the West to learn our movements and forces upon the border, and our temper and disposition with regard to great matters that are agitating both Mexico and America.""It is true, all that you say," replied Middleton tranquilly. "I am Captain George Middleton of the American regular troops, and, at the request of our War Department, I undertook the hazardous mission of which you speak.""You will go no farther with it," said de Armijo."How can you keep me from it?""I cannot--perhaps, but events can--events have. You do not know, but I do, Captain Middleton, that there is war between your country and mine.""Ah!" exclaimed Middleton, and, despite the darkness, Phil saw a sudden flush spring into his face."It is not only war," continued de Armijo, "but there has been a heavy battle, two of them, in fact. Your troops met ours at Palo Alto on May eighth, and again on the following day at Resaca de la Palma.""Ah!" exclaimed Middleton again, the exclamation being drawn up from the very depths of his being, while the flush on his face deepened. "And you know, I suppose, which won?"It was a peculiar coincidence that the moon's rays made their way at that moment through clouds, and a bright beam fell on the face of Pedro de Armijo. Phil saw the Mexican's face fall a little, despite all his efforts at self-control. De Armijo himself felt this change in his countenance, and, knowing what it indicated to the man who asked the question, he replied without evasion:"I regret to say that the fortunes of war were against the deserving. Our brave general, Ampudia, and our gallant troops were compelled to retire before your general, Taylor. At least, so say my hasty advices; perhaps they are wrong."But Phil could see that de Armijo had no such hope. The news was correct, and the boy's heart thrilled with joy because the first victories had fallen to his own people."I would not have told you this," continued de Armijo, "had you not caught me in an attempt to take your papers. Had it been peace, 'steal' would have been the word, but since it is war 'steal' turns to enterprise and zeal. Had I not believed you ignorant that the war has begun, and that I might make more profit out of you in our hands than as a fugitive, or at least as one who might have escaped, I should have opened fire upon you as you approached. Perhaps I made a mistake.""All of us do at times," said Middleton thoughtfully."Well spoken," said de Armijo. He lighted a cigarette and took a few easy puffs."Well, Captain Middleton," he said at length, "the problem is now yours, not ours. You have taken it out of our hands. What are you going to do with us?""It seems to me," said Captain Middleton, "that this problem, like most others, admits of only one solution. You are our prisoners, but we cannot hold you. Our own situation prevents it. We could kill you, but God forbid a single thought of such a crime. We will take your arms and let you go. You will not suffer without your arms, as your Comanche friends are near, a fact which you know very well.""We accept your terms," said de Armijo, "since we must, and with your permission we will mount our horses and ride away. But it is to be understood, Captain Middleton, and you, young Mr. Bedford, and the rest of you, that we part as enemies and not as friends.""As you will," said Middleton. "I recognize the fact that you have no cause to love us, and perhaps the sooner we both depart from this spot the better it will be for all.""But we may meet again on the battlefield; is it not so?" said de Armijo."That, I cannot tell," replied Middleton, "but it is not unlikely."Breakstone and Arenberg still stood by the captured arms, but, without casting a glance at either the arms or their guardians, de Armijo signaled to his men, and they mounted and rode away."Adios!" he called back in Spanish, although he did not turn his face."Adios!" said Middleton in the same tone.They did not move or speak until they heard the hoof-beats die away, and then it was Bill Breakstone who first broke the silence."That certainly came out well," he said. "The curtain came down on a finer finish than the first act indicated. I confess that I didn't know your plan, Captain--I don't call you Cap any more--but I trusted you, and I confess, also, that I fell asleep. It was you and Sir Philip of the Active Mind and the Watchful Eye who did most of the work."It was in Tex.We met the Mex.They spoke so high,But now they cry.Or, at least, they ought to cry when they think how we turned the tables on them. Now, Captain, I suppose we must be up and doing, for those fellows, as you said, will go straight to the Comanches, and if we linger here our scalps will be of less value to ourselves than to anybody else.""It is quite true," said Captain Middleton. "We must reach the train as soon as possible, because the danger to it has increased with our own. But even more important than that is the great change that must be made. Woodfall cannot go on now, since the whole Southwest will be swept by bands of Mexican and Indian horsemen.""What must the train do?" asked Phil in anxiety, because this concerned him very nearly."It must turn south and join the American army on the Rio Grande. Most of the things that it carries will be of value to our troops, and Woodfall will clear as much profit there as at Santa Fé, which is now a city in arms against us. In this case the path of comparative safety and honor is also the path of profit. What more could Woodfall ask?""He's a brave man, and brave men are with him," said Bill Breakstone. "You won't have to ask him twice."Phil's heart had throbbed with joy at Middleton's answer. His quest was always in his mind. He had feared that they might turn back, but now it suited him as well to join the American army as to go on toward Santa Fé. The quest was a wide one. But Arenberg suppressed a sigh."Let's be starting," said Middleton. "We'll take their arms with us. They're of value, and Bill, moreover, is without a rifle or musket."Breakstone, who had been examining the weapons, uttered a cry of joy."Here is a fine rifle," he said, "one of the best American make. I wonder how that Mexican got it! The rest are not so good.""Take the fine one, Bill," said Middleton, "and we will pack up the rest and ride."They were out of the woods in a few minutes, and again rode rapidly toward the west. It was an easy task to pick up the great wagon trail again, even in the dark of the night, as the grass and soil were trodden or pressed down over a width of fully two hundred yards. The country rolled lightly. Bill Breakstone thought that a range of hills lay toward the north, but in the night they could not see."I hope that we'll overtake Woodfall before day," said Middleton, "because I've an idea that de Armijo and the little band with him are not the only Mexicans hereabouts. He would not come so far North without a considerable force, and I suspect that it is his intention to capture our train, with the aid of the Comanches.""We can beat them off," said Breakstone confidently."If our people are warned in time," said Middleton."Much harm iss meant," said Arenberg, speaking for the first time, "but we may keep much from being done. Our most dangerous enemies before the daylight comes are the Comanches. They have already learned from de Armijo that we are here, and it iss like as not that they are now between us and the train."Middleton looked at his watch, holding it in the moon's rays."It is two hours until day," he said, "and the trail is rapidly growing fresher. We may yet get through before the ring closes. Ah, there they are now!"A hand's breadth of fire suddenly leaped up in the north, and burned there like a steady torch. Far in the east, another but fainter appeared and burned, and a third leaped up in the south. But when they looked back in the west they saw none."Fortune rides on our cruppers so far," said Middleton. "We are on the side of the circle which yet has the open segment. Push on, my boys!"Phil's knees involuntarily pressed against the side of his horse, and that strange sensation, like icy water running down the spine, came again. Those three lights speaking to one another in the darkness and across great distances were full of mystery and awe. But he rode without speech, and he looked most of the time at the lights, which remained fixed, as if what they said could not be changed.Middleton, who was in advance, suddenly reined in his horse, and the others, stopping, also, noticed that just in front of them a depression ran across the plain."It's an arroyo or something like it," said Bill Breakstone, "but the wagons have crossed it anyhow."They followed the trail to the other side and then saw that it continued almost parallel with the broad gully."Why shouldn't we take to the gully?" said Phil. "It has a smooth bottom, it is wide enough for us, riding two abreast, and it will give us shelter.""A good idea," said Middleton.They turned back into the arroyo, and found an easy road there. The banks were several feet high, and, as the dusk still hung on the plain, they increased their speed, counting each moment worth one man's life. They came soon to a place where the gully was shallower than usual, and then they saw two or three faint lights in the plain before them, apparently about a half mile away. Middleton raised a warning hand, and they stopped."Those are the lights of the train," he said. "They undoubtedly have scouts out, and of course they have seen the signals of the Comanches and the Mexicans, just as we have, but they do not know as much as we do. I think we had better go down the arroyo as far as we can, and then, if the alarm is sounded by our enemies, gallop for it.""It iss our choice because there iss none other," said Arenberg.They continued, but more slowly, in order to make as little noise as possible. They had covered more than half the distance when Phil saw a faint line of gray on the horizon line in the east. The next moment against the background of gray appeared a horseman, a man of olive skin, clad in sombrero, bright jacket, embroidered trousers, and boots with great spurs. He carried a weapon like a spear, and Phil knew at once that he was a Mexican lancer, no doubt a sentinel.The man saw them, and, instead of attempting to use his lance, snatched a pistol from his belt and fired point blank. The bullet passed by Middleton's face, and, like a flash, Bill Breakstone replied with a bullet from his rifle. The Mexican went down, but from three points of the compass came cries, the shouts of the Mexicans and the long war whoop of the Comanches."Forward for your lives!" cried Middleton, and, dashing out of the arroyo, they galloped at full speed toward the wagon train.CHAPTER IXTHE FIERY CIRCLEThe thin gray light in the east broadened into a bar as the hoofbeats of the four thundered over the plain. From left to right came shouts, the yells of the Indians and the fierce cries of the Mexicans."Bend low," cried Middleton, "and we may escape their bullets!"Phil lay almost upon his horse's neck, but it was an unconscious act. He was thrilling with excitement, as the four horsemen almost clove the morning mist, and rode on swift hoofs straight toward the wagon train. Then came the rattling of rifles and whistling of arrows from either side. "Ping!" the bullets sang in his ear and "Ping!" the arrows sang, also. He remembered afterward that he wished, if he were hit at all, to be hit by a bullet instead of an arrow; an arrow sticking in one's flesh would be very cumbersome and painful. But neither arrow nor bullet struck true. Their ride was too sudden and swift, and the light too faint to permit good aim to the Mexicans and Comanches. Yet Phil heard confused sounds, shouted commands, and the noise of hurrying feet. He saw dark faces appearing in the mist on either side, and he also saw the outlines of wagons through the same mist in front. Then he saw men, rifle in hand, who seemed to rise out of the plain in front of the wagons. Two of the men raised their rifles and took aim at the galloping horsemen."We are friends, and we bring you warning!" shouted Middleton in a tremendous voice. "Don't fire upon us!"But the men and three others who appeared near them pulled the trigger. Phil did not hear the ping of the bullets, and now he realized that they fired not at his comrades and himself but at those who pursued. A death-cry and yells of rage came from behind them, but in another minute they were within the line of sentinels and were springing from their horses, ready to take their part in the combat that they expected.All the morning mists were driven away at that moment by the sun, as if a veil had been lifted, and the whole plain stood out clear and distinct under a brilliant sky. Before them were the wagons, drawn up in a circle in the customary fashion of a camp, the horses and mules in the center, and the men, arms in hand, forming an outer ring for the wagons. But from the northeast and the southeast two lines were converging upon them, and Phil's heart kindled at the sight.The line in the northeast was made up of red horsemen, four hundred Comanches, naked to the waist, horribly painted, and riding knee to knee, the redoubtable chiefs, Santana and Black Panther, at their head. The line in the southeast was composed of Mexican cavalry, lancers splendidly mounted, the blades of their lances and their embroidered jackets glittering in the sun. They made their horses prance and cavort, and many in the first rank whirled lariats in derision.A tall figure strolled forward and welcomed Middleton and his comrades. It was Woodfall, his face flushed somewhat, but his manner undaunted."I'm glad to welcome you back, Mr. Middleton," he said, "and with your comrades, all of them alive and well. But what does this mean? Why do those men ride to attack, when this is the soil of Texas?"He waved his hand toward the advancing Mexican column."They advance against us," replied Middleton, "because this is war, war between the United States and Mexico--we learned that last night from one of their own officers--and there have been two heavy battles on the Rio Grande, both victorious for us."It was not strange that a sudden cheer burst from the men who heard these words. Woodfall listened to it grimly, and, when it died, he said:"Then if these Mexicans attack, we'll soon have a third victory to our credit. The Indian bow and the Mexican lance can't break through a circle of riflemen, entrenched behind wagons--riflemen who know how to shoot."Again that defiant, even exultant cheer rose from the men who heard, and, passing on like a fire in dry grass, it rolled all around the circle of wagons. The Mexicans heard it. They detected the defiant note in it, and, wisely, they checked their speed. The column of Indian warriors also came more slowly. Philip Bedford, hardened in so brief a space to danger and war, did not feel any great fear, but the scene thrilled him like a great picture painted in living types and colors against the background of the earth. There were the red horsemen, the sun deepening the tints of their coppery faces and bringing out the glowing colors of their war bonnets. To the southeast the Mexican column, also, was a great ribbon of light lying across the plain, the broad blades of the lances catching the sun's rays and throwing them back in golden beams."A fine show," said Woodfall, "and if those Mexicans had two or three cannon they might wipe us out, but they haven't, and so we're lucky.""I think I ought to tell you, Mr. Woodfall," said Middleton, "that I'm a captain in the regular army, Captain Middleton, and that I've been making use of your hospitality to find what forces the enemy had in these parts, and what movements he was making. I was sent by our government, and, as you see, I'm finding what I was sent to find.""I thought there was something military about your cut, Captain," said Woodfall, "and it seems to me to be a good thing that you are with us. If we've helped you without knowing, then you, knowing it, can help us now."The hands of the two men met in the strong clasp of friendship and trust."They're about to move," said Middleton, who practically took command. "I suggest that we go inside the circle of wagons now, and that at least two-thirds of our men devote their attention to the lancers. The Mexicans are brave; we must not forget that."They went inside at once, where a few men were detailed to see that the horses and mules did not make too great a turmoil, while the rest posted themselves for defense. The wagons were in reality a formidable barrier for an attacking force that did not have artillery. The majority of the Americans lay down under the wagons between the wheels. Phil was under one of them with Bill Breakstone on one side of him and Arenberg on the other. Middleton was elsewhere with Woodfall."Much harm iss meant," said Arenberg, "and I would say to you, Philip, although little advice iss needed by you now, not to fire too soon, and to remember, when you take aim, to allow for the fact that they are coming toward us at a gallop.""That's right," said Bill Breakstone. "Old Hans, here, knows.""Ach," said Arenberg, uttering a sigh, "I love peace, and I never thought to have a part in cruel Indian and Mexican battles."It occurred to Phil that the sigh had no reference to the coming combat. The German's face showed sadness, but not a trace of fear. He turned his gaze from Arenberg and fixed it upon the Mexican column which they were facing. He thought that he saw de Armijo in the front rank among the officers in brilliant dress, but he was not sure. The distance was too great. He wondered whether he would shoot at him, if he saw him later in the charge.The sunlight was intensely bright, such as one sees only on great upland plains, and the Mexican lancers with their horses stood out, like carving, against the background of gold and blue. Phil saw the column suddenly quiver, as if a single movement ran through all. The lances were lifted a little higher, and their blades cast broader beams. A flag fluttered in the front rank and unfolded in the slight wind.The notes of a trumpet sounded high and clear, the Mexicans uttered a long, fierce shout, the colors shifted and changed, like water flowing swiftly, as the column broke into a gallop and came straight toward the wagons, the plain thundering with the beat of their hoofs. From another part of the compass came a second cry, higher pitched, longer drawn, and with more of the whine of the wolf in it. Phil knew that it came from the Comanches, who were also charging, led by Black Panther and Santana, but he did not take his eyes from the Mexicans.The two attacking columns began to fire scattering shots, but the defenders of the wagons had not yet pulled a trigger, although many a forefinger was trembling with eagerness."It's pretty, but it's a waste, a dead waste," said Bill Breakstone. "I hate to shoot at them, because I've no doubt many a brave young fellow is out there, but we've got to let them have it. Steady, Phil, steady! They're coming close now."Suddenly they heard the loud shout, "Fire!" It was Middleton who uttered it, and everybody obeyed. A sheet of flame seemed to spurt from the wagons, and the air was filled with singing lead. The entire head of the Mexican column was burnt away. The ground was strewn with the fallen. Riderless horses, some wounded and screaming with pain, galloped here and there. The column stopped and seemed to be wavering. Several officers, sword in hand--and now Phil was sure that he saw de Armijo among them--were trying to urge the lancers on. All the Americans were reloading as fast as they could, and while the Mexicans yet wavered, they poured in a second volley. Unable to withstand it, the lancers broke and fled, bearing the officers away with them in their panic.Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg crawled from under the wagon and stood on the outside, erect again. There they contemplated for a few moments the wreck that they and their comrades had made. From the Indian point of attack came the sound of retiring shots, and they knew that the Comanches had been quickly repulsed, also."It was one of the most foolish things I ever saw," said Bill Breakstone, "to ride right into the mouths of long-barreled, well-aimed rifles like ours. Their numbers didn't help them. What say you, Sir Philip of the Rifle and the Wagon?""It seems to me that you're right," replied the boy. "I don't think they'll charge again, nor will the Comanches.""You're right, too; they've had enough."The Mexicans and Comanches, having gathered up their wounded, united and remained in a dark cloud beyond rifle shot, apparently intending neither to charge again nor to go away. But the defenders of the train were cheerful. They had suffered no loss, being protected so well, and they were willing enough to meet a second attack delivered in the same fashion. But Middleton and Woodfall had hot coffee and tea served, and then with strong field glasses they observed the enemy."I believe they are in great doubt," said Middleton. "They may think they can starve us out, but the Mexicans will not want to wait for so long a process; it is likely that they will prefer going southward to join their main army."He said these words aloud, where many could hear, but a little while afterward he and Woodfall drew to one side and talked a long time in low tones. Phil could tell by their faces that they were very earnest, and he felt sure that a proposition would be made before long. He called Breakstone's attention to them."You're right," said Bill, "they'll have something to say soon, and it will concern all of us. Ah, there comes the Cap--I mean the Captain--now, and he's going to make a speech."Middleton sprang upon a wagon tongue, and, standing very quiet, looked slowly around the circle of defenders, all of whom bent their eyes upon him. They were a motley group, Americans mostly, but with a scattering of a dozen European nationalities among them. The majority of them were bareheaded, with necks and chests uncovered, and all were stained black or brown with a mixture of perspiration, dust, and burnt gunpowder. The majority of them were young, some but little older than Phil himself. They looked very curiously at Middleton as he stood upon the wagon pole. Already all knew that he was an officer in the regular army. In the distance hung the dark fringe of Mexicans and Comanches, but, for the moment, only the sentinels paid any attention to them."Men," cried Middleton, "you have beaten off the attack of the Mexicans and the Comanches, and you can do it again as often as they come! I know that, and so do you!"He was stopped for a few seconds by a great cheer, and then he resumed:"We can beat them off, but the road to Santa Fé has now become impossible. Moreover, the nation with which we are at war holds Santa Fé, and to go there would be merely to march into prison or worse. We can't turn back. You are not willing to go back to New Orleans, are you?""Never!" they cried in one voice.Middleton smiled. He was appealing deftly to the pride of these men, and he had known the response before it came."Then if we can neither go on to Santa Fé nor turn back to New Orleans," he said, "we must either start to the north or to the south."He was speaking now with the greatest fervor. His face flushed deeply, and they hung upon his words."To the north lies the wilderness," he said, "stretching away for thousands of miles to the Arctic Ocean. To the south there are plains reaching down to a river, broad, shallow, and yellow, and somewhere along that river armies are fighting, armies of our own people and armies of the Mexicans with whom we are now at war. Which way shall we go, north or south?""South!" was roared forth in one tremendous voice. Again Middleton smiled. Again he had known before it came the response that would be spoken."Then south it is," he said, "and we make for Taylor's army on the Rio Grande. You will find there a better market for what you carry in your wagons than you would have found at Santa Fé, and you're likely to find something else, also, that I know you won't shirk.""Fighting!" roared forth that tremendous voice once more."Yes, fighting," said Middleton, as he sprang down from the pole and rejoined Woodfall."That was clever talk," said Bill Breakstone, "but he knew his ground before he sowed the seed. These are just the sort of lads who will be glad to go south to Taylor, breaking their way through any Mexicans or Indians who may get across their path."He said northHe said south,What's the choice?We spoke forth,It was south,With one voice.And now, unless I'm mightily mistaken, we'll fare forth upon our journey, as the knights of old would say. This is a good camp for defense, but not for siege. It lacks water. You just watch, Phil, and you'll see a wrinkle or two in plains work worth knowing."The men began to hitch the horses to the wagons, but they were interrupted in the task by a horseman who rode forth from the Mexican column, carrying a white handkerchief on the point of a lance. He was joined by two Indian chiefs riding on either side of him. Phil instantly recognized all three. The white man was Pedro de Armijo, and the Indians were Black Panther and Santana."They want a big talk," said Bill Breakstone. "I fear the Greeks bearing gifts, and also a lot of other people who smile at you while they hold daggers behind their backs, but I suppose our side will hear what they have to say."Middleton and Woodfall were already mounting to ride forth, and Middleton beckoned to Phil."Come, Phil," he said. "They are three, and we should be three, also. You can call yourself the secretary of the meeting if you like."Phil sprang eagerly upon his horse, proud of the privilege and the honor, and rode forth with them. The Mexican and the two Comanches were coming on slowly and gravely. Four hundred yards behind them, Mexicans and Indians, all on horseback, were now gathered in a broad dark line, sitting motionless and watching. Their three envoys sat on their horses midway between the hostile forces, and the three Americans, meeting them there, stopped face to face. De Armijo looked at Middleton and smiled slightly, ironically. His bearing was proud, and was evidently meant to be disdainful. One would have thought that he was a victor, receiving an embassy about to sue for peace. Middleton returned his gaze steadfastly, but his face expressed nothing. He looked once at Phil, and the boy thought he saw something singular in the glance, as if he impinged somehow upon the mind of the Mexican, but in a moment the look of de Armijo passed."I have come, Captain Middleton," said the young Mexican, "to save bloodshed, if you are willing to listen to reason. You will observe what forces have come against you. We have here a numerous body of Mexican cavalry, the finest in the world, and we have also the flower of the Comanche nation, the bravest of the Indian warriors. In victory, the Mexicans are humane and merciful, but the Indian nature is different. Excited and impassioned, it finds vent in terrible deeds. Therefore, as you are surrounded and cannot escape, we ask you to surrender now, and save the lives of your men."It was hard for Phil to restrain an exclamation at this piece of presumption, but Middleton received it gravely. His face was still without expression. Nevertheless, his reply was barbed."Your demand seems inopportune, Lieutenant de Armijo," he replied. "You can scarcely have forgotten, since it occurred less than an hour ago, the defeat of both your cavalry and your Comanche allies. Perhaps we are unduly confident, but we feel that we can do so again, as often as needed."De Armijo frowned. He glanced at his Indian comrades. Phil wondered if he had been deceiving them with promises of what the invincible Mexican lancers could and would do. But the two savages made no response. Their coppery faces did not move."Thus, then, is your final answer, Captain Middleton," said de Armijo."It is," replied Middleton. "It is not the custom for victors to surrender. So we bid you good day, Lieutenant de Armijo."As he spoke, he saluted and turned his horse. Woodfall and Phil saluted and turned with him. The Mexican returned the salute with a gloved hand, but the Indians turned stolidly without a sign. Then the two parties rode away in opposite directions, each to its own men. Phil dismounted at the wagons, and was met by Breakstone and Arenberg with eager questions."What did that yellow Mex. want, Sir Philip of the Council?" asked Breakstone."As he has just given us such a severe thrashing," replied Phil, "he demanded our immediate and unconditional surrender. He said that if we acceded to this demand only one-tenth of us would be shot, but he made it a special condition that a renowned scout, sharpshooter, white warrior, and talker, one William Breakstone, be shot first and at once, as a terrible example, in the presence of both victor and vanquished. Immediately after him one Hans Arenberg, a very dangerous and blood-thirsty man, was to share the same fate. If we refused this gentle alternative, we were all to be killed, and then scalped by the savages.""Of course, Sir Philip," said Bill Breakstone, "they've put a just value on me, but I surmise that the jest doth leap from your nimble tongue. Now the truth!""De Armijo and the Indian chiefs did really demand our surrender," said Phil. "They said we could not escape. They talked as if they were the victors and we the beaten.""Now, by my troth, that is a merry jest!" exclaimed Bill Breakstone. "When do we lay down our arms? Is it within the next five minutes, or do we even take fifteen?""You can surrender if you want to, Bill," said Phil, "but nobody else has any notion of doing so. The rest, I think, are going to march southward at once, Mexicans or no Mexicans, Comanches or no Comanches.""Well spoken," said Bill Breakstone, "and I will even help in the march."A roar that might easily have been called a shout of defiance came from the men of the train, when the story of the council was told. Then, with increased zeal, they fell to the work of girding up for the march and battle. The insolent demand of de Armijo added new fire to their courage. Cheerful voices arose, the rattle of bridle-bits, the occasional neigh of a horse, men singing snatches of song, generally lines from sentimental ballads, and the clink of bullets as they were counted and dropped into their pouches. Some of these sounds were of war, but Phil found the whole effect buoyant and encouraging. He caught the spirit, and whistled a lilting air as he, too, worked by the side of Bill Breakstone.The boy soon saw the plan. Gradually the circle of wagons formed itself into two parallel lines, the noses of the horses or mules almost touching the rear of the wagon in front of them. Outside and on either side, but close to the wagons, rode the armed horsemen, two formidable lines, who, if hard pressed, could take refuge and shelter between the parallel rows of wagons. Moreover, the wagons handled by such cool and skillful men could be turned in a crisis, and even under fire, into a circle again, with the animals in the center. Phil understood the arrangement thoroughly, admired it tremendously, and was sure that the master mind of Middleton had directed everything. He glanced at the Mexicans and Comanches. They were still hovering in a great dark mass about a thousand yards away, and Phil knew that they were watching every movement of the Americans with the most intense curiosity.Middleton and Woodfall rode to the head of the train. The loud command: "March!" was given. Every driver cracked his whip at the same time, the whole making a report like the sudden crash of many rifles, and the train began to move slowly across the plain, every armed man on either side holding his finger on the trigger of his rifle.Phil was just behind Bill Breakstone, and both of them looked back at the enemy. Phil wondered what the Mexicans and Comanches would do, but he did not believe they would allow the train to depart unmolested, despite the fact that their face had already been well burned. He saw the hostile columns advance at about an even pace with the train, but he judged that there was uncertainty in their ranks. The Americans bore a certain resemblance to a modern armored train, and such men as de Armijo, Black Panther, and Santana were wary, despite their great excess of numbers.The train moved forward at a slow but steady pace, but now its head was turned almost due south instead of west. Before them rolled the plains as usual, green with a grass not yet dried by the summer suns. Here and there appeared strange flowering shrubs, peculiar to the Texas uplands, but no trees broke the view. The plains rolled away until they died under the horizon of reddish gold that seemed an interminable distance away. There was little sound now but that of the turning wheels, the creaking of the axles, and the hoofbeats of many scores of horses and mules. The men were almost completely silent, and this silence, in itself, was strange, because the very atmosphere was impregnated with war. At any moment they might be in deadly conflict; yet they rode on, saying nothing.Behind them came the Mexicans and Comanches in a double column, preserving the same distance of about a thousand yards, they, too, riding in silence, save for their hoofbeats. The dead evidently had been left as they fell or put in hasty graves, while the wounded were carried on horses in the rear. Phil looked back again and again at this singular pursuit, which, for the present, seemed no pursuit at all--at least, not hostile. It reminded him of the silent but tenacious manner in which wolves followed a great deer. While fearing his antlers and sharp hoofs, they would hang on and hang on, and in the end would drag down the quarry. Would that be the fate of the train?"It's pretty good country for traveling," said Bill Breakstone cheerily, "and I don't see that anything is interrupting us. Except that we pass over one swell after another, the road is smooth and easy. What fine grassy plains these are, Phil, and look! yonder are antelopes grazing to the north of us. They've raised their heads to see, if they can, what we are, and what is that crowd behind us. They're just eaten up with curiosity."Phil saw the herd of antelope come nearer. They were on a swell, in black silhouette against a red sun, and they were exaggerated to three or four times their real size. Phil was something of a philosopher, and he reflected that they were safe in the presence of so many men, because the men were not seeking game, but one another. The train moved on, and the herd of antelope dropped behind and out of sight. Still there was no demonstration from the enemy, who yet came on, in two columns, at the same distance of about a thousand yards, the sunlight gleaming on the lances of both Mexicans and Comanches. It began to seem to Phil as if they would always continue thus. Nevertheless, it was hard on the nerves, this incessant watching, as if one were guarding against a beast that might spring at any moment. Moreover, their force looked so large. But Phil glanced at the long-barreled rifles that the men of the train carried. They had proved far more than a match for muskets and lances."Will they attack us?" he asked Arenberg."Much harm iss meant," replied the German, "but they will not seek to do it until they think they see a chance. It iss time only that will tell."The extraordinary march lasted all day. Neither side committed a single hostile act, and the silence, so far as the men were concerned, was unbroken. The distance of about a thousand yards was preserved, but the Mexicans and Comanches were still there, and it seemed that they did not intend to be shaken off. About sunset they came to one of the shallow prairie streams, this time a mere brook, but with plenty of water for their animals."Here we camp," said Bill Breakstone, and almost as he spoke Middleton gave the word. One line of wagons went forward, the other stopped, the two ends joined, and then they swung around in a circle, with the stream flowing down the center of the enclosure. It was all done with so much celerity and so little trouble that the Mexicans and Comanches seemed to be taken by surprise. A few of them rode nearer, and some of the Comanches fired arrows, but they fell far short, and the Americans paid no attention to them."We'll take a bite and a drink, Phil," said Bill Breakstone, "a bite of cold meat and a drink of cold water.""It iss good," said Arenberg. "That iss what we will do."They had no fuel with which to light fires, but there were lanterns carrying candles in the train, and these were hung on the sides of the wagons facing the inner ring, casting a pleasant light on the men as they passed. But Phil and his two comrades, food in hand, went outside."Hope it won't come on too dark," said Breakstone. "A thick night is what we've got to dread. If our friends out there mean to do anything, they'll try it to-night, or I'm mightily fooled."In the east, where the enemy hung, the twilight had come already and now both Mexicans and Comanches were blurring with the darkness. A lance blade or two gave back a last flash of fire from the setting sun, but in a few more instants the rays ceased to reach them, and they sank into the night of the eastern plain.
CHAPTER VIII
NEW ENEMIES
The two were in splendid spirits. They had escaped great dangers, and they were on horseback once more. It is true, they were somewhat short on armament, but Breakstone took Phil's pistol, while the latter kept the rifle, and they were confident that they could find game enough on the plains until they overtook the wagon train. The horses themselves seemed glad of the companionship of their old masters, and went forward readily and at an easy pace through the woods. They soon found the path by which they had come, and followed it until they crossed the river and reached the site of the camp. But the trail toward the plain lay before them broad and easy.
"They can't have gone long," said Breakstone. "They may have thought that we were merely loitering behind for some purpose of our own and would soon overtake them. A whole train isn't going to linger about for two fellows well mounted and well armed who are supposed to know how to take care of themselves. But, Sir Philip of the Youthful Countenance, I don't think that Middleton and Arenberg would go ahead without us."
"Neither do I," said Phil with emphasis. "I as good as know that they're looking for us in these woods, and we've got to stay behind and find them, taking the risk of Comanches."
"Wherein I do heartily agree with you, and I'm going to take a chance right now. It is likely that the two, after fruitless searches for us, would return here at intervals, and, in a region like this, the sound of a shot will travel far. Fire the rifle, Phil, and it may bring them. It's often used as a signal. If it brings the Comanches instead, we're on our horses, and they're strong and swift."
Phil fired a shot, but there was no response. He waited half an hour and fired a second time, with the same result. After another half hour, the third shot was fired, and, four or five minutes later, Breakstone announced that he heard the tread of hoofs. It was a faint, distant sound, but Phil, too, heard it, and he was confident that it was made by hoofs. The two looked at each other, and each read the question in the other's eye. Who were coming in reply to the call of that third rifle shot, red men or white?
"We'll just draw back a little behind this clump of bushes," said Breakstone. "We can see a long way through their tops, and not be seen until the riders come very close. Then, if the visitors to this Forest of Arden of ours, Sir Philip, are not those whom we wish to see, it's up and away with us."
They waited in strained eagerness. The sounds grew louder. It was certain, moreover, that the riders were coming straight toward the point at which the rifle had been fired.
"Judging from the hoof beats, how many would you say they are?" asked Phil.
"Not many. Maybe three or four, certainly not more. But I'm hoping that it's two, neither more nor less."
On came the horsemen, the hoofbeats steadily growing louder. Phil rose in his stirrups and gained a further view. He saw the top of a soft hat and then the top of another. In a half minute the faces beneath came into view. He knew them both, and he uttered a cry of joy.
"Middleton and Arenberg!" he exclaimed. "Here they come!"
"Our luck still holds good," said Bill Breakstone. He and Phil galloped from behind the bushes and shouted as warm a welcome as men ever had. They received one equally warm in return, as Middleton and the German urged their horses forward. Then there was a mighty shaking of hands and mutual congratulations.
"The train left yesterday morning," said Middleton, "but we couldn't give you up. We scouted all the way across the forest and saw the Comanches on the other side. There was nothing to indicate anything unusual among them, such as a sacrifice of prisoners, and we hoped that if you had been taken by them you had escaped, and we came back here to see, knowing that if you were able you would return to this place. We were right in one part of our guess, because here you are."
"And mighty glad we are to be here," said Bill Breakstone, "and I want to say to you that I, Bill Breakstone, who may not be of so much importance to the world, but who is of vast importance to himself, would not be here at all, or anywhere else, for that matter, if it were not for this valiant and skillful youth, Sir Philip Bedford, Knight of the Texas plains."
"Stop, Bill," exclaimed Phil blushing. "Don't talk that way."
"Talk that way! Of course I will! And I'll pile it up, too! And after I pile it up and keep on piling it up, it won't be the whole truth. Cap, and you, Hans, old fellow, Phil and I were not taken together, because Phil was never taken at all. It was I alone who sat still, shut my eyes, and closed my ears while I let three of the ugliest Comanche warriors that were ever born walk up, lay violent hands on me, harness me up in all sorts of thongs and withes, and carry me off to their village, where they would have had some red sport with me if Phil hadn't come, when they were all mad with a great dance, and taken me away."
Then he told the story in detail, and Phil, shy and blushing, was compelled to receive their compliments, which were many and sincere. But he insisted that he merely succeeded through good luck, which Bill Breakstone warmly denied.
"Well, between the two of you, you have certainly got out of it well," said Middleton, "and, as we are reunited, we must plan for the next step. We can easily overtake the train by to-morrow, but I'm of the opinion that we'll have to be very careful, and that we must do some scouting, also. Arenberg and I have discovered that the Comanche warriors are on the move again. Their whole force of warriors seemed to be getting ready to leave the village, and they may be planning, after all, a second attack upon the train, a night surprise, or something of that kind. We, too, will have to be careful lest we run into them."
"Then it maybe for the good of the train that we were left back here," said Phil, "because we will return with a warning."
"It may be the hand of Providence," said Arenberg, "since the Comanches did no harm where much was intended."
As both Middleton and Arenberg were firmly convinced that the plain would be thick with Comanche scouts, making their passage by daylight impossible, or at least extremely hazardous, they decided to remain in the woods until nightfall. They rode a couple of miles from the camp, tethered their horses in thick bushes, and, sitting near them, waited placidly. Phil Breakstone, and Arenberg talked in low tones, but Middleton sat silent. Phil noticed presently that "The Cap" was preoccupied. Little lines of thought ran down from his eyes to the corners of his nose.
Phil began to wonder again about the nature of Middleton's mission. Every one of the four was engaged upon some great quest, and none of them knew the secret of any of the others. Nor, in the rush of events, had they been left much time to think about such matters.
Now Phil again studied Middleton more closely. There was something in the unaccustomed lines of his face and his thoughtful eye indicating a belief that for him, at least, the object of the quest might be drawing nigh. At least, it seemed so to the boy. He studied, too, Middleton's clean cut face, and the sharp line of his strong chin. Phil had noticed before that this man was uncommonly neat in his personal appearance. It was a neatness altogether beyond what one usually saw on the plains. His clothing was always clean and in order, he carried a razor, and he shaved every day. Nor did he ever walk with a slovenly, lounging gait.
Phil decided that something very uncommon must have sent him with the Santa Fé train, but he would not ask; he had far too much delicacy to pry into the secret of another, who did not pry into his own.
Middleton and Arenberg had ample food in their saddlebags and Phil and Breakstone combined with it their stock of deer meat. Nothing disturbed them in the thicket, and at nightfall they mounted and rode out into the plain.
"I know something about this country before us," said Breakstone. "It runs on in rolling swells for a march of many days, without any streams except shallow creeks, and without any timber except the fringes of cottonwoods along these creeks."
"And I know which way to go in order to overtake the train," said Middleton. "Woodfall said that they would head straight west, and we are certainly good enough plainsmen to keep our noses pointed that way."
"We are, we surely are," said Bill Breakstone, "but we must keep a good watch for those Comanche scouts. They hide behind the swells on their ponies, and they blend so well with the dusky earth that you'd never notice 'em until they had passed the signal on to others that you were coming and that it was a good time to form an ambush."
There was a fair sky, with a moon and some clear stars, and they could see several hundred yards, but beyond that the whole horizon fused into a dusky wall. They rode at a long, swinging pace, and the hoofs of their horses made little noise on the new spring turf. The wind of the plains, which seldom ceases, blew gently in their faces and brought with it a soft crooning sound. Its note was very pleasant in the ears of Philip Bedford. In the saddle and with his best friends again, he felt that he could defy anything. He felt, too, and perhaps the feeling was due to his physical well-being and recovered safety, that he, also, was coming nearer to the object of his quest. Involuntarily he put his left hand on his coat, where the paper which he had read so often lay securely in a little inside pocket. He knew every word of it by heart, but when the time came, and he was alone, he would take it out and read it again. It was this paper that was always calling to him.
They rode on, crossing swell after swell, and, after the first hour, the four did not talk. It was likely that every one was thinking of his own secret.
They came about midnight to a prairie creek, a stream of water two or three yards wide and a few inches deep, flowing in a bed of sand perhaps fifteen yards across. A thin fringe of low cottonwoods and some willows grew on either shore. They approached warily, knowing that such a place offered a good ambush, and realizing that four would not have much chance against a large Comanche war band.
"But I don't think there is much danger," said Bill Breakstone. "If the Comanches are up to mischief again, they're not looking for stray parties; their mind is on the train, and, by the way, the train has passed along here. Look down, and in this moonlight you can see plainly enough the tracks of a hundred wheels."
"The horses are confident," said Middleton, "and I think we can be so, too."
The horses were advancing without hesitation, and it soon became evident that nothing was concealed among the scanty lines of trees and bushes.
"Look out for quicksands," said Arenberg. "It iss not pleasant to be swallowed up in one of them and feel that you have died such a useless death."
"There is no danger," said Phil, whose quick eye was following the trail of the wagons. "Here is where the train crossed, and if the wagons didn't sink we won't."
The water being cold and entirely free from alkali, the horses drank eagerly, and their riders, also, took the chance to refill their canteens, which they always carried strapped to their saddle bows. They also rested awhile, but, when they remounted and rode on, Middleton noticed a light to the northward. On the plains then, no man would pass a light without giving it particular attention, and the four sat on their horses for some minutes studying it closely. They thought at first that it might be a signal light of the Comanches, but, as it did not waver, they concluded that it must be a camp fire.
"Now I'm thinking," said Bill Breakstone, "that we oughtn't to leave a camp fire burning away here on the plains, and we not knowing anything about it. It won't take us long to ride up and inspect it."
"That is a truth," said Middleton. "It is not a difficult matter for four horsemen to overtake a wagon train, but we'll first see what that fire means."
"It iss our duty to do so," said the phlegmatic German.
They rode straight toward the light, and their belief that it was a camp fire was soon confirmed. They saw the red blaze rising and quivering, and then dusky figures passing and repassing before it.
"We're yet too far away to tell exactly what those figures are," said Bill Breakstone, "but I don't see any sign of long hair or war bonnets, and so I take it that they are not Comanches, nor any other kind of Indians, for that matter. No warriors would build so careless a fire or wander so carelessly about it.
"They are white men," said Middleton with conviction, as he increased his horse's pace. "Ah, I see now! Mexicans! Look at the shadows of their great conical hats as they pass before the fire."
"Now I wonder what they're doing here on Texas soil," said Bill Breakstone.
Middleton did not answer, but Phil noticed that the look in his eyes was singularly tense and eager. As they drew near the fire, which was a large one, and the hoof-beats of their horses were heard, two men in Mexican. dress, tall conical broad-brimmed hats, embroidered coats and trousers and riding boots, bearing great spurs, came forward to meet them. Phil saw another figure, which had been lying on a blanket by the fire, rise and stand at attention. He instantly perceived, even then, something familiar in the figure.
The four rode boldly forward, and Middleton called out:
"We are friends!"
The two Mexicans who were in advance, rifle in hand, stood irresolutely, and glanced at the man behind them, who had just risen from his blanket.
"You are welcome," said this man in good English but with a strong Mexican accent. "We are glad for anybody to share with us our camp fire in this wilderness. Dismount, Señores."
Then Phil knew him well. It was Pedro de Armijo, the young Mexican whom he had seen with the Mexican envoy, Zucorra, in New Orleans, one whom he had instinctively disliked, one whom he was exceedingly astonished to see at such a time and place. Middleton also recognized him, because he raised his cap and said politely:
"This is a pleasant meeting. You are Captain Pedro de Armijo, who came to our capital with His Excellency Don Augustin Xavier Hernando Zucorra on a mission, intended to be of benefit to both our countries. My name is Middleton, George Middleton, and these are my friends, Mr. Breakstone, Mr. Arenberg, and Mr. Bedford."
De Armijo gave every one in turn a quick scrutinizing look, and, with flowing compliment, bade them welcome to his fireside. It seemed that he did not remember Middleton, but that he took for granted their former meeting in Washington. Phil liked him none the more because of the polite words he used. He was not one to hold prejudice because of race, but this Mexican had a manner supercilious and conceited that inspired resentment.
"It seems strange, Señor Middleton," said de Armijo, "that we should meet again in such a place on these vast plains, so far from a house or any other human beings, plains that were once Mexican, but which you now call yours."
De Armijo glided over the last words smoothly, but the blood leaped in Phil's temples. Middleton apparently took no notice, but said that he and his comrades were riding across the plains mainly on an exploring expedition. As there was some danger from Comanches, they were traveling partly by night, and, having seen the camp fire, they had come to investigate it, after the custom of the wilderness.
"And, now that you have found us," said de Armijo with elaborate courtesy, "I have reason to believe that you would run into Comanche horsemen a little farther on. They would not harm us Mexicans, with whom they are at peace, but for you Americans they would have little mercy. Stay with us for the remainder of the night."
He smiled, showing his white teeth, and Middleton smiled back as he replied:
"Your courtesy is appreciated, Captain de Armijo. We shall stay. It is pleasant, too, to welcome a gallant Mexican officer like yourself to American soil."
The eyes of de Armijo snapped in the firelight, and the white teeth were bared again. Phil knew that he resented the expression "American soil." Mexico still maintained a claim to Texas--which it could not make good--and he felt equally confident that Middleton had used it purposely. It seemed to him that some sort of duel was in progress between the two, and he watched it with overwhelming curiosity. But de Armijo quickly returned to his polite manner.
"You speak the truth," he said. "It is I who am your guest, not you who are mine. It was Mexican soil once, and before that Spanish--three centuries under our race--but now gone, I suppose, forever."
Middleton did not reply, but approached the fire and warmed his hands over the blaze. The night was cold and the flames looked cheerful. The others tethered their horses, and all except the two who had met the Americans took their places by the fire. The Mexicans were six in number. Only de Armijo seemed to be a man of any distinction. The others, although stalwart and well armed, were evidently of the peon class. Phil wondered what this little party was doing here, and the conviction grew upon him that the meeting had something to do with Middleton's mission.
"I am sorry," said de Armijo, "that we do not even have a tent to offer you, but doubtless you are accustomed to sleeping under the open sky, and the air of these plains is dry and healthy."
"A blanket and a few coals to warm one's feet are sufficient," said Middleton. "We will avail ourselves of your courtesy and not keep you awake any longer."
Both Breakstone and Arenberg glanced at Middleton, but they said nothing, wrapping themselves in their blankets, and lying down, with their feet to the fire. Phil did the same, but he thought it a strange proceeding, this apparently unguarded camping with Mexicans, who at the best were not friends, with the possibility of Comanches who were, at all times, the bitterest and most dangerous of enemies. Yet Middleton must have some good reason, he was not a man to do anything rash or foolish, and Phil awaited the issue with confidence.
Phil could not sleep. The meeting had stirred him too much, and his nerves would not relax. He lay before the fire, his feet within a yard of the coals, and his head in the crook of his arm. Now and then he heard a horse move or stamp his hoofs, but all the men were silent. De Armijo, lying on a blanket and with a fine blue cavalry cloak spread over him, seemed to be asleep, but as he was on the other side of the fire Phil could not see his eyes. Middleton was nearer, and he saw his chest rising and falling with the regularity of one who sleeps.
It all seemed very peaceful, very restful. Perhaps de Armijo's hospitality was real, and he had wronged him with his suspicions. But reason with himself as he would, Phil could not overcome his dislike and distrust. Something was wrong, and something was going to happen, yet much time passed and nothing happened. De Armijo's eyes were still shaded by his cloak, but his long figure lay motionless. Only a few live coals remained from the fire, and beyond a radius of twenty feet lay the encircling rim of the darkness. At the line where light and dark met, crouched the two peons with their rifles across their knees. It was Phil's opinion that they, too, slept in this sitting posture. Surely de Armijo and his men had great confidence in their security, and must be on the best of terms with the Comanches! If so, it might increase the safety of the little American party, also, but the boy yet wondered why Middleton had stopped when they were all so eager to reach the wagon train and warn it of the new danger.
Phil stirred once or twice, but only to ease his position, and he did it without noise. His eyes were shaded by the brim of his soft hat, but he watched the circle about the fire, and most of all he watched de Armijo. An interminable period of time passed, every second growing to ten times its proper length. Phil was as wakeful as ever, but so much watching made the figures about the fire dim and uncertain. They seemed to shift their places, but the boy was still resolved to keep awake, although everybody else slept through the night. His premonition was yet with him, his heart expanded, and his pulse beat faster.
The remaining coals died one by one. The circle of light, already small, contracted still more, became a point, and then vanished. Everything now lay in the dark, and the figures were merely blacker shapes against the blackness. Then, after that long waiting, with every second and minute drawn out tenfold, Phil's premonition came true. Something happened.
De Armijo moved. He moved ever so slightly, but Phil saw him, and, lying perfectly still himself, he watched him with an absorbed attention, and a heart that had increased its beating still further. De Armijo's body itself had not moved, it was merely one hand that had come slowly from under the covering of the cloak, and that now lay white against the blue cloth. A man might move his hand thus in sleep, but it seemed to Phil that the action was guided by a conscious mind. Intent, he watched, and presently his reward came. The other hand also slid from beneath the cloak, and, like its fellow, lay white against the blue cloth. Now both hands were still, but Phil yet waited, confident that more would come. It was all very quiet and slow, like the craft and cunning of the Indian, but Phil was willing to match it with a patience and craft of his own.
At last the whole figure of de Armijo stirred. Phil saw the blue cloak tremble slightly. Then the man raised his head ever so little and looked about the dark circle. Slowly he let the head fall back, and the figure became still again. But the boy was not deceived. Already every suspicion had been verified in his mind, and his premonition was proved absolutely true.
Pedro de Armijo raised himself again, but a little higher this time, and he did not let his head and body drop back. He looked about the circle with a gaze that Phil knew must be sharp and scrutinizing, although it was too dark for him to see the expression of his eyes. The Mexican seemed satisfied with his second examination, and then, dropping softly on his hands and knees, he crept toward Middleton. It occurred to Phil afterward that this approach toward Middleton did not surprise him. In reality, it was just what he had expected de Armijo to do.
The boy was uncertain about his own course, and, like one under a spell, he waited. The dusky figure of de Armijo creeping toward Middleton had a sinuous motion like that of a great snake, and Phil's hand slipped down to the hammer of his rifle, but he would not fire. He noticed that de Armijo had drawn no weapon, and he did not believe that murder was his intention.
Middleton did not move. He lay easily upon his right side, and Phil judged that he was in a sound sleep. De Armijo, absorbed in his task, did not look back. Hence he did not see the boy who rose slowly to a sitting posture, a ready rifle in his hands.
Phil saw de Armijo reach Middleton's side and pause there a moment or two. He still drew no weapon, and this was further proof that murder was not in the Mexican's mind, but Phil believed that whatever lay between these two was now at the edge of the crisis. He saw de Armijo raise his hand and put it to Middleton's breast with the evident intention of opening his coat. So he was a thief! But the fingers stopped there as Phil leveled his rifle and called sharply:
"Hands up, de Armijo, or I shoot!"
The startled Mexican would have thrown up his hands, but he did not have time. They were seized in the powerful grasp of Middleton, and he was pulled downward upon his face.
"Ah, would you, de Armijo!" cried Middleton in exultant tones. "We have caught you! Good boy, Phil, you were watching, too!"
"All the others were up in an instant, but Breakstone and Arenberg were too quick for the Mexicans. They covered them with their rifle muzzles before their antagonists could raise their weapons.
"Throw down every gun and pistol!" said Breakstone sternly. "There, by the log, and we'll see what's going forward!"
Sullenly the Mexicans complied, and then stood in a little huddled group, looking at their fallen leader, whom Middleton still held upon the ground, but who was pouring out muffled oaths from a face that was in the dirt.
"Take his pistols, Phil," said Middleton, and the boy promptly removed them. Then Middleton released him, and de Armijo sat up, his face black as night, his heart raging with anger, hate, and humiliation.
"How dare you attack me in my own camp! You whom we received as guests!" he cried.
"We did not attack you," replied Middleton calmly. He had risen to his feet, and he towered over the Mexican like an accusing judge. "It is you who attacked us, or me, rather, and you intended, if you did not get what you wanted with smooth fingers, to use violence. You cannot deny that, Captain Pedro de Armijo of the Mexican army; there were at least two witnesses of your act, Philip Bedford and myself."
De Armijo looked down at the ground, and seemed to commune with himself for a few moments. Then he stood at his full height, brushed the traces of dirt from his clothes, and gave Middleton a look of uncompromising defiance and hostility. All at once it struck Phil that this was a man of ability and energy, one who could be a bitter and dangerous enemy.
"You are right in part, Captain Middleton," said de Armijo slowly. "I was seeking to take the maps, letters, and instructions that you carry inside your tunic, next, perhaps, to your very flesh. They would be valuable possessions to us, and it was my duty, as a captain in the Mexican army, to take them if I could, from you, a captain in the American army."
Phil started and looked anew at Middleton. A captain in the American army! This was why he had walked with that upright carriage! This was why he had been so particular about his personal appearance! He began to see a little way.
"We, too, have our channels of information," said de Armijo, "and I knew that you had embarked upon a mission in the West to learn our movements and forces upon the border, and our temper and disposition with regard to great matters that are agitating both Mexico and America."
"It is true, all that you say," replied Middleton tranquilly. "I am Captain George Middleton of the American regular troops, and, at the request of our War Department, I undertook the hazardous mission of which you speak."
"You will go no farther with it," said de Armijo.
"How can you keep me from it?"
"I cannot--perhaps, but events can--events have. You do not know, but I do, Captain Middleton, that there is war between your country and mine."
"Ah!" exclaimed Middleton, and, despite the darkness, Phil saw a sudden flush spring into his face.
"It is not only war," continued de Armijo, "but there has been a heavy battle, two of them, in fact. Your troops met ours at Palo Alto on May eighth, and again on the following day at Resaca de la Palma."
"Ah!" exclaimed Middleton again, the exclamation being drawn up from the very depths of his being, while the flush on his face deepened. "And you know, I suppose, which won?"
It was a peculiar coincidence that the moon's rays made their way at that moment through clouds, and a bright beam fell on the face of Pedro de Armijo. Phil saw the Mexican's face fall a little, despite all his efforts at self-control. De Armijo himself felt this change in his countenance, and, knowing what it indicated to the man who asked the question, he replied without evasion:
"I regret to say that the fortunes of war were against the deserving. Our brave general, Ampudia, and our gallant troops were compelled to retire before your general, Taylor. At least, so say my hasty advices; perhaps they are wrong."
But Phil could see that de Armijo had no such hope. The news was correct, and the boy's heart thrilled with joy because the first victories had fallen to his own people.
"I would not have told you this," continued de Armijo, "had you not caught me in an attempt to take your papers. Had it been peace, 'steal' would have been the word, but since it is war 'steal' turns to enterprise and zeal. Had I not believed you ignorant that the war has begun, and that I might make more profit out of you in our hands than as a fugitive, or at least as one who might have escaped, I should have opened fire upon you as you approached. Perhaps I made a mistake."
"All of us do at times," said Middleton thoughtfully.
"Well spoken," said de Armijo. He lighted a cigarette and took a few easy puffs.
"Well, Captain Middleton," he said at length, "the problem is now yours, not ours. You have taken it out of our hands. What are you going to do with us?"
"It seems to me," said Captain Middleton, "that this problem, like most others, admits of only one solution. You are our prisoners, but we cannot hold you. Our own situation prevents it. We could kill you, but God forbid a single thought of such a crime. We will take your arms and let you go. You will not suffer without your arms, as your Comanche friends are near, a fact which you know very well."
"We accept your terms," said de Armijo, "since we must, and with your permission we will mount our horses and ride away. But it is to be understood, Captain Middleton, and you, young Mr. Bedford, and the rest of you, that we part as enemies and not as friends."
"As you will," said Middleton. "I recognize the fact that you have no cause to love us, and perhaps the sooner we both depart from this spot the better it will be for all."
"But we may meet again on the battlefield; is it not so?" said de Armijo.
"That, I cannot tell," replied Middleton, "but it is not unlikely."
Breakstone and Arenberg still stood by the captured arms, but, without casting a glance at either the arms or their guardians, de Armijo signaled to his men, and they mounted and rode away.
"Adios!" he called back in Spanish, although he did not turn his face.
"Adios!" said Middleton in the same tone.
They did not move or speak until they heard the hoof-beats die away, and then it was Bill Breakstone who first broke the silence.
"That certainly came out well," he said. "The curtain came down on a finer finish than the first act indicated. I confess that I didn't know your plan, Captain--I don't call you Cap any more--but I trusted you, and I confess, also, that I fell asleep. It was you and Sir Philip of the Active Mind and the Watchful Eye who did most of the work.
"It was in Tex.We met the Mex.They spoke so high,But now they cry.
"It was in Tex.We met the Mex.They spoke so high,But now they cry.
"It was in Tex.
We met the Mex.
They spoke so high,
But now they cry.
Or, at least, they ought to cry when they think how we turned the tables on them. Now, Captain, I suppose we must be up and doing, for those fellows, as you said, will go straight to the Comanches, and if we linger here our scalps will be of less value to ourselves than to anybody else."
"It is quite true," said Captain Middleton. "We must reach the train as soon as possible, because the danger to it has increased with our own. But even more important than that is the great change that must be made. Woodfall cannot go on now, since the whole Southwest will be swept by bands of Mexican and Indian horsemen."
"What must the train do?" asked Phil in anxiety, because this concerned him very nearly.
"It must turn south and join the American army on the Rio Grande. Most of the things that it carries will be of value to our troops, and Woodfall will clear as much profit there as at Santa Fé, which is now a city in arms against us. In this case the path of comparative safety and honor is also the path of profit. What more could Woodfall ask?"
"He's a brave man, and brave men are with him," said Bill Breakstone. "You won't have to ask him twice."
Phil's heart had throbbed with joy at Middleton's answer. His quest was always in his mind. He had feared that they might turn back, but now it suited him as well to join the American army as to go on toward Santa Fé. The quest was a wide one. But Arenberg suppressed a sigh.
"Let's be starting," said Middleton. "We'll take their arms with us. They're of value, and Bill, moreover, is without a rifle or musket."
Breakstone, who had been examining the weapons, uttered a cry of joy.
"Here is a fine rifle," he said, "one of the best American make. I wonder how that Mexican got it! The rest are not so good."
"Take the fine one, Bill," said Middleton, "and we will pack up the rest and ride."
They were out of the woods in a few minutes, and again rode rapidly toward the west. It was an easy task to pick up the great wagon trail again, even in the dark of the night, as the grass and soil were trodden or pressed down over a width of fully two hundred yards. The country rolled lightly. Bill Breakstone thought that a range of hills lay toward the north, but in the night they could not see.
"I hope that we'll overtake Woodfall before day," said Middleton, "because I've an idea that de Armijo and the little band with him are not the only Mexicans hereabouts. He would not come so far North without a considerable force, and I suspect that it is his intention to capture our train, with the aid of the Comanches."
"We can beat them off," said Breakstone confidently.
"If our people are warned in time," said Middleton.
"Much harm iss meant," said Arenberg, speaking for the first time, "but we may keep much from being done. Our most dangerous enemies before the daylight comes are the Comanches. They have already learned from de Armijo that we are here, and it iss like as not that they are now between us and the train."
Middleton looked at his watch, holding it in the moon's rays.
"It is two hours until day," he said, "and the trail is rapidly growing fresher. We may yet get through before the ring closes. Ah, there they are now!"
A hand's breadth of fire suddenly leaped up in the north, and burned there like a steady torch. Far in the east, another but fainter appeared and burned, and a third leaped up in the south. But when they looked back in the west they saw none.
"Fortune rides on our cruppers so far," said Middleton. "We are on the side of the circle which yet has the open segment. Push on, my boys!"
Phil's knees involuntarily pressed against the side of his horse, and that strange sensation, like icy water running down the spine, came again. Those three lights speaking to one another in the darkness and across great distances were full of mystery and awe. But he rode without speech, and he looked most of the time at the lights, which remained fixed, as if what they said could not be changed.
Middleton, who was in advance, suddenly reined in his horse, and the others, stopping, also, noticed that just in front of them a depression ran across the plain.
"It's an arroyo or something like it," said Bill Breakstone, "but the wagons have crossed it anyhow."
They followed the trail to the other side and then saw that it continued almost parallel with the broad gully.
"Why shouldn't we take to the gully?" said Phil. "It has a smooth bottom, it is wide enough for us, riding two abreast, and it will give us shelter."
"A good idea," said Middleton.
They turned back into the arroyo, and found an easy road there. The banks were several feet high, and, as the dusk still hung on the plain, they increased their speed, counting each moment worth one man's life. They came soon to a place where the gully was shallower than usual, and then they saw two or three faint lights in the plain before them, apparently about a half mile away. Middleton raised a warning hand, and they stopped.
"Those are the lights of the train," he said. "They undoubtedly have scouts out, and of course they have seen the signals of the Comanches and the Mexicans, just as we have, but they do not know as much as we do. I think we had better go down the arroyo as far as we can, and then, if the alarm is sounded by our enemies, gallop for it."
"It iss our choice because there iss none other," said Arenberg.
They continued, but more slowly, in order to make as little noise as possible. They had covered more than half the distance when Phil saw a faint line of gray on the horizon line in the east. The next moment against the background of gray appeared a horseman, a man of olive skin, clad in sombrero, bright jacket, embroidered trousers, and boots with great spurs. He carried a weapon like a spear, and Phil knew at once that he was a Mexican lancer, no doubt a sentinel.
The man saw them, and, instead of attempting to use his lance, snatched a pistol from his belt and fired point blank. The bullet passed by Middleton's face, and, like a flash, Bill Breakstone replied with a bullet from his rifle. The Mexican went down, but from three points of the compass came cries, the shouts of the Mexicans and the long war whoop of the Comanches.
"Forward for your lives!" cried Middleton, and, dashing out of the arroyo, they galloped at full speed toward the wagon train.
CHAPTER IX
THE FIERY CIRCLE
The thin gray light in the east broadened into a bar as the hoofbeats of the four thundered over the plain. From left to right came shouts, the yells of the Indians and the fierce cries of the Mexicans.
"Bend low," cried Middleton, "and we may escape their bullets!"
Phil lay almost upon his horse's neck, but it was an unconscious act. He was thrilling with excitement, as the four horsemen almost clove the morning mist, and rode on swift hoofs straight toward the wagon train. Then came the rattling of rifles and whistling of arrows from either side. "Ping!" the bullets sang in his ear and "Ping!" the arrows sang, also. He remembered afterward that he wished, if he were hit at all, to be hit by a bullet instead of an arrow; an arrow sticking in one's flesh would be very cumbersome and painful. But neither arrow nor bullet struck true. Their ride was too sudden and swift, and the light too faint to permit good aim to the Mexicans and Comanches. Yet Phil heard confused sounds, shouted commands, and the noise of hurrying feet. He saw dark faces appearing in the mist on either side, and he also saw the outlines of wagons through the same mist in front. Then he saw men, rifle in hand, who seemed to rise out of the plain in front of the wagons. Two of the men raised their rifles and took aim at the galloping horsemen.
"We are friends, and we bring you warning!" shouted Middleton in a tremendous voice. "Don't fire upon us!"
But the men and three others who appeared near them pulled the trigger. Phil did not hear the ping of the bullets, and now he realized that they fired not at his comrades and himself but at those who pursued. A death-cry and yells of rage came from behind them, but in another minute they were within the line of sentinels and were springing from their horses, ready to take their part in the combat that they expected.
All the morning mists were driven away at that moment by the sun, as if a veil had been lifted, and the whole plain stood out clear and distinct under a brilliant sky. Before them were the wagons, drawn up in a circle in the customary fashion of a camp, the horses and mules in the center, and the men, arms in hand, forming an outer ring for the wagons. But from the northeast and the southeast two lines were converging upon them, and Phil's heart kindled at the sight.
The line in the northeast was made up of red horsemen, four hundred Comanches, naked to the waist, horribly painted, and riding knee to knee, the redoubtable chiefs, Santana and Black Panther, at their head. The line in the southeast was composed of Mexican cavalry, lancers splendidly mounted, the blades of their lances and their embroidered jackets glittering in the sun. They made their horses prance and cavort, and many in the first rank whirled lariats in derision.
A tall figure strolled forward and welcomed Middleton and his comrades. It was Woodfall, his face flushed somewhat, but his manner undaunted.
"I'm glad to welcome you back, Mr. Middleton," he said, "and with your comrades, all of them alive and well. But what does this mean? Why do those men ride to attack, when this is the soil of Texas?"
He waved his hand toward the advancing Mexican column.
"They advance against us," replied Middleton, "because this is war, war between the United States and Mexico--we learned that last night from one of their own officers--and there have been two heavy battles on the Rio Grande, both victorious for us."
It was not strange that a sudden cheer burst from the men who heard these words. Woodfall listened to it grimly, and, when it died, he said:
"Then if these Mexicans attack, we'll soon have a third victory to our credit. The Indian bow and the Mexican lance can't break through a circle of riflemen, entrenched behind wagons--riflemen who know how to shoot."
Again that defiant, even exultant cheer rose from the men who heard, and, passing on like a fire in dry grass, it rolled all around the circle of wagons. The Mexicans heard it. They detected the defiant note in it, and, wisely, they checked their speed. The column of Indian warriors also came more slowly. Philip Bedford, hardened in so brief a space to danger and war, did not feel any great fear, but the scene thrilled him like a great picture painted in living types and colors against the background of the earth. There were the red horsemen, the sun deepening the tints of their coppery faces and bringing out the glowing colors of their war bonnets. To the southeast the Mexican column, also, was a great ribbon of light lying across the plain, the broad blades of the lances catching the sun's rays and throwing them back in golden beams.
"A fine show," said Woodfall, "and if those Mexicans had two or three cannon they might wipe us out, but they haven't, and so we're lucky."
"I think I ought to tell you, Mr. Woodfall," said Middleton, "that I'm a captain in the regular army, Captain Middleton, and that I've been making use of your hospitality to find what forces the enemy had in these parts, and what movements he was making. I was sent by our government, and, as you see, I'm finding what I was sent to find."
"I thought there was something military about your cut, Captain," said Woodfall, "and it seems to me to be a good thing that you are with us. If we've helped you without knowing, then you, knowing it, can help us now."
The hands of the two men met in the strong clasp of friendship and trust.
"They're about to move," said Middleton, who practically took command. "I suggest that we go inside the circle of wagons now, and that at least two-thirds of our men devote their attention to the lancers. The Mexicans are brave; we must not forget that."
They went inside at once, where a few men were detailed to see that the horses and mules did not make too great a turmoil, while the rest posted themselves for defense. The wagons were in reality a formidable barrier for an attacking force that did not have artillery. The majority of the Americans lay down under the wagons between the wheels. Phil was under one of them with Bill Breakstone on one side of him and Arenberg on the other. Middleton was elsewhere with Woodfall.
"Much harm iss meant," said Arenberg, "and I would say to you, Philip, although little advice iss needed by you now, not to fire too soon, and to remember, when you take aim, to allow for the fact that they are coming toward us at a gallop."
"That's right," said Bill Breakstone. "Old Hans, here, knows."
"Ach," said Arenberg, uttering a sigh, "I love peace, and I never thought to have a part in cruel Indian and Mexican battles."
It occurred to Phil that the sigh had no reference to the coming combat. The German's face showed sadness, but not a trace of fear. He turned his gaze from Arenberg and fixed it upon the Mexican column which they were facing. He thought that he saw de Armijo in the front rank among the officers in brilliant dress, but he was not sure. The distance was too great. He wondered whether he would shoot at him, if he saw him later in the charge.
The sunlight was intensely bright, such as one sees only on great upland plains, and the Mexican lancers with their horses stood out, like carving, against the background of gold and blue. Phil saw the column suddenly quiver, as if a single movement ran through all. The lances were lifted a little higher, and their blades cast broader beams. A flag fluttered in the front rank and unfolded in the slight wind.
The notes of a trumpet sounded high and clear, the Mexicans uttered a long, fierce shout, the colors shifted and changed, like water flowing swiftly, as the column broke into a gallop and came straight toward the wagons, the plain thundering with the beat of their hoofs. From another part of the compass came a second cry, higher pitched, longer drawn, and with more of the whine of the wolf in it. Phil knew that it came from the Comanches, who were also charging, led by Black Panther and Santana, but he did not take his eyes from the Mexicans.
The two attacking columns began to fire scattering shots, but the defenders of the wagons had not yet pulled a trigger, although many a forefinger was trembling with eagerness.
"It's pretty, but it's a waste, a dead waste," said Bill Breakstone. "I hate to shoot at them, because I've no doubt many a brave young fellow is out there, but we've got to let them have it. Steady, Phil, steady! They're coming close now."
Suddenly they heard the loud shout, "Fire!" It was Middleton who uttered it, and everybody obeyed. A sheet of flame seemed to spurt from the wagons, and the air was filled with singing lead. The entire head of the Mexican column was burnt away. The ground was strewn with the fallen. Riderless horses, some wounded and screaming with pain, galloped here and there. The column stopped and seemed to be wavering. Several officers, sword in hand--and now Phil was sure that he saw de Armijo among them--were trying to urge the lancers on. All the Americans were reloading as fast as they could, and while the Mexicans yet wavered, they poured in a second volley. Unable to withstand it, the lancers broke and fled, bearing the officers away with them in their panic.
Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg crawled from under the wagon and stood on the outside, erect again. There they contemplated for a few moments the wreck that they and their comrades had made. From the Indian point of attack came the sound of retiring shots, and they knew that the Comanches had been quickly repulsed, also.
"It was one of the most foolish things I ever saw," said Bill Breakstone, "to ride right into the mouths of long-barreled, well-aimed rifles like ours. Their numbers didn't help them. What say you, Sir Philip of the Rifle and the Wagon?"
"It seems to me that you're right," replied the boy. "I don't think they'll charge again, nor will the Comanches."
"You're right, too; they've had enough."
The Mexicans and Comanches, having gathered up their wounded, united and remained in a dark cloud beyond rifle shot, apparently intending neither to charge again nor to go away. But the defenders of the train were cheerful. They had suffered no loss, being protected so well, and they were willing enough to meet a second attack delivered in the same fashion. But Middleton and Woodfall had hot coffee and tea served, and then with strong field glasses they observed the enemy.
"I believe they are in great doubt," said Middleton. "They may think they can starve us out, but the Mexicans will not want to wait for so long a process; it is likely that they will prefer going southward to join their main army."
He said these words aloud, where many could hear, but a little while afterward he and Woodfall drew to one side and talked a long time in low tones. Phil could tell by their faces that they were very earnest, and he felt sure that a proposition would be made before long. He called Breakstone's attention to them.
"You're right," said Bill, "they'll have something to say soon, and it will concern all of us. Ah, there comes the Cap--I mean the Captain--now, and he's going to make a speech."
Middleton sprang upon a wagon tongue, and, standing very quiet, looked slowly around the circle of defenders, all of whom bent their eyes upon him. They were a motley group, Americans mostly, but with a scattering of a dozen European nationalities among them. The majority of them were bareheaded, with necks and chests uncovered, and all were stained black or brown with a mixture of perspiration, dust, and burnt gunpowder. The majority of them were young, some but little older than Phil himself. They looked very curiously at Middleton as he stood upon the wagon pole. Already all knew that he was an officer in the regular army. In the distance hung the dark fringe of Mexicans and Comanches, but, for the moment, only the sentinels paid any attention to them.
"Men," cried Middleton, "you have beaten off the attack of the Mexicans and the Comanches, and you can do it again as often as they come! I know that, and so do you!"
He was stopped for a few seconds by a great cheer, and then he resumed:
"We can beat them off, but the road to Santa Fé has now become impossible. Moreover, the nation with which we are at war holds Santa Fé, and to go there would be merely to march into prison or worse. We can't turn back. You are not willing to go back to New Orleans, are you?"
"Never!" they cried in one voice.
Middleton smiled. He was appealing deftly to the pride of these men, and he had known the response before it came.
"Then if we can neither go on to Santa Fé nor turn back to New Orleans," he said, "we must either start to the north or to the south."
He was speaking now with the greatest fervor. His face flushed deeply, and they hung upon his words.
"To the north lies the wilderness," he said, "stretching away for thousands of miles to the Arctic Ocean. To the south there are plains reaching down to a river, broad, shallow, and yellow, and somewhere along that river armies are fighting, armies of our own people and armies of the Mexicans with whom we are now at war. Which way shall we go, north or south?"
"South!" was roared forth in one tremendous voice. Again Middleton smiled. Again he had known before it came the response that would be spoken.
"Then south it is," he said, "and we make for Taylor's army on the Rio Grande. You will find there a better market for what you carry in your wagons than you would have found at Santa Fé, and you're likely to find something else, also, that I know you won't shirk."
"Fighting!" roared forth that tremendous voice once more.
"Yes, fighting," said Middleton, as he sprang down from the pole and rejoined Woodfall.
"That was clever talk," said Bill Breakstone, "but he knew his ground before he sowed the seed. These are just the sort of lads who will be glad to go south to Taylor, breaking their way through any Mexicans or Indians who may get across their path.
"He said northHe said south,What's the choice?We spoke forth,It was south,With one voice.
"He said northHe said south,What's the choice?We spoke forth,It was south,With one voice.
"He said north
He said south,
What's the choice?
What's the choice?
We spoke forth,
It was south,
With one voice.
With one voice.
And now, unless I'm mightily mistaken, we'll fare forth upon our journey, as the knights of old would say. This is a good camp for defense, but not for siege. It lacks water. You just watch, Phil, and you'll see a wrinkle or two in plains work worth knowing."
The men began to hitch the horses to the wagons, but they were interrupted in the task by a horseman who rode forth from the Mexican column, carrying a white handkerchief on the point of a lance. He was joined by two Indian chiefs riding on either side of him. Phil instantly recognized all three. The white man was Pedro de Armijo, and the Indians were Black Panther and Santana.
"They want a big talk," said Bill Breakstone. "I fear the Greeks bearing gifts, and also a lot of other people who smile at you while they hold daggers behind their backs, but I suppose our side will hear what they have to say."
Middleton and Woodfall were already mounting to ride forth, and Middleton beckoned to Phil.
"Come, Phil," he said. "They are three, and we should be three, also. You can call yourself the secretary of the meeting if you like."
Phil sprang eagerly upon his horse, proud of the privilege and the honor, and rode forth with them. The Mexican and the two Comanches were coming on slowly and gravely. Four hundred yards behind them, Mexicans and Indians, all on horseback, were now gathered in a broad dark line, sitting motionless and watching. Their three envoys sat on their horses midway between the hostile forces, and the three Americans, meeting them there, stopped face to face. De Armijo looked at Middleton and smiled slightly, ironically. His bearing was proud, and was evidently meant to be disdainful. One would have thought that he was a victor, receiving an embassy about to sue for peace. Middleton returned his gaze steadfastly, but his face expressed nothing. He looked once at Phil, and the boy thought he saw something singular in the glance, as if he impinged somehow upon the mind of the Mexican, but in a moment the look of de Armijo passed.
"I have come, Captain Middleton," said the young Mexican, "to save bloodshed, if you are willing to listen to reason. You will observe what forces have come against you. We have here a numerous body of Mexican cavalry, the finest in the world, and we have also the flower of the Comanche nation, the bravest of the Indian warriors. In victory, the Mexicans are humane and merciful, but the Indian nature is different. Excited and impassioned, it finds vent in terrible deeds. Therefore, as you are surrounded and cannot escape, we ask you to surrender now, and save the lives of your men."
It was hard for Phil to restrain an exclamation at this piece of presumption, but Middleton received it gravely. His face was still without expression. Nevertheless, his reply was barbed.
"Your demand seems inopportune, Lieutenant de Armijo," he replied. "You can scarcely have forgotten, since it occurred less than an hour ago, the defeat of both your cavalry and your Comanche allies. Perhaps we are unduly confident, but we feel that we can do so again, as often as needed."
De Armijo frowned. He glanced at his Indian comrades. Phil wondered if he had been deceiving them with promises of what the invincible Mexican lancers could and would do. But the two savages made no response. Their coppery faces did not move.
"Thus, then, is your final answer, Captain Middleton," said de Armijo.
"It is," replied Middleton. "It is not the custom for victors to surrender. So we bid you good day, Lieutenant de Armijo."
As he spoke, he saluted and turned his horse. Woodfall and Phil saluted and turned with him. The Mexican returned the salute with a gloved hand, but the Indians turned stolidly without a sign. Then the two parties rode away in opposite directions, each to its own men. Phil dismounted at the wagons, and was met by Breakstone and Arenberg with eager questions.
"What did that yellow Mex. want, Sir Philip of the Council?" asked Breakstone.
"As he has just given us such a severe thrashing," replied Phil, "he demanded our immediate and unconditional surrender. He said that if we acceded to this demand only one-tenth of us would be shot, but he made it a special condition that a renowned scout, sharpshooter, white warrior, and talker, one William Breakstone, be shot first and at once, as a terrible example, in the presence of both victor and vanquished. Immediately after him one Hans Arenberg, a very dangerous and blood-thirsty man, was to share the same fate. If we refused this gentle alternative, we were all to be killed, and then scalped by the savages."
"Of course, Sir Philip," said Bill Breakstone, "they've put a just value on me, but I surmise that the jest doth leap from your nimble tongue. Now the truth!"
"De Armijo and the Indian chiefs did really demand our surrender," said Phil. "They said we could not escape. They talked as if they were the victors and we the beaten."
"Now, by my troth, that is a merry jest!" exclaimed Bill Breakstone. "When do we lay down our arms? Is it within the next five minutes, or do we even take fifteen?"
"You can surrender if you want to, Bill," said Phil, "but nobody else has any notion of doing so. The rest, I think, are going to march southward at once, Mexicans or no Mexicans, Comanches or no Comanches."
"Well spoken," said Bill Breakstone, "and I will even help in the march."
A roar that might easily have been called a shout of defiance came from the men of the train, when the story of the council was told. Then, with increased zeal, they fell to the work of girding up for the march and battle. The insolent demand of de Armijo added new fire to their courage. Cheerful voices arose, the rattle of bridle-bits, the occasional neigh of a horse, men singing snatches of song, generally lines from sentimental ballads, and the clink of bullets as they were counted and dropped into their pouches. Some of these sounds were of war, but Phil found the whole effect buoyant and encouraging. He caught the spirit, and whistled a lilting air as he, too, worked by the side of Bill Breakstone.
The boy soon saw the plan. Gradually the circle of wagons formed itself into two parallel lines, the noses of the horses or mules almost touching the rear of the wagon in front of them. Outside and on either side, but close to the wagons, rode the armed horsemen, two formidable lines, who, if hard pressed, could take refuge and shelter between the parallel rows of wagons. Moreover, the wagons handled by such cool and skillful men could be turned in a crisis, and even under fire, into a circle again, with the animals in the center. Phil understood the arrangement thoroughly, admired it tremendously, and was sure that the master mind of Middleton had directed everything. He glanced at the Mexicans and Comanches. They were still hovering in a great dark mass about a thousand yards away, and Phil knew that they were watching every movement of the Americans with the most intense curiosity.
Middleton and Woodfall rode to the head of the train. The loud command: "March!" was given. Every driver cracked his whip at the same time, the whole making a report like the sudden crash of many rifles, and the train began to move slowly across the plain, every armed man on either side holding his finger on the trigger of his rifle.
Phil was just behind Bill Breakstone, and both of them looked back at the enemy. Phil wondered what the Mexicans and Comanches would do, but he did not believe they would allow the train to depart unmolested, despite the fact that their face had already been well burned. He saw the hostile columns advance at about an even pace with the train, but he judged that there was uncertainty in their ranks. The Americans bore a certain resemblance to a modern armored train, and such men as de Armijo, Black Panther, and Santana were wary, despite their great excess of numbers.
The train moved forward at a slow but steady pace, but now its head was turned almost due south instead of west. Before them rolled the plains as usual, green with a grass not yet dried by the summer suns. Here and there appeared strange flowering shrubs, peculiar to the Texas uplands, but no trees broke the view. The plains rolled away until they died under the horizon of reddish gold that seemed an interminable distance away. There was little sound now but that of the turning wheels, the creaking of the axles, and the hoofbeats of many scores of horses and mules. The men were almost completely silent, and this silence, in itself, was strange, because the very atmosphere was impregnated with war. At any moment they might be in deadly conflict; yet they rode on, saying nothing.
Behind them came the Mexicans and Comanches in a double column, preserving the same distance of about a thousand yards, they, too, riding in silence, save for their hoofbeats. The dead evidently had been left as they fell or put in hasty graves, while the wounded were carried on horses in the rear. Phil looked back again and again at this singular pursuit, which, for the present, seemed no pursuit at all--at least, not hostile. It reminded him of the silent but tenacious manner in which wolves followed a great deer. While fearing his antlers and sharp hoofs, they would hang on and hang on, and in the end would drag down the quarry. Would that be the fate of the train?
"It's pretty good country for traveling," said Bill Breakstone cheerily, "and I don't see that anything is interrupting us. Except that we pass over one swell after another, the road is smooth and easy. What fine grassy plains these are, Phil, and look! yonder are antelopes grazing to the north of us. They've raised their heads to see, if they can, what we are, and what is that crowd behind us. They're just eaten up with curiosity."
Phil saw the herd of antelope come nearer. They were on a swell, in black silhouette against a red sun, and they were exaggerated to three or four times their real size. Phil was something of a philosopher, and he reflected that they were safe in the presence of so many men, because the men were not seeking game, but one another. The train moved on, and the herd of antelope dropped behind and out of sight. Still there was no demonstration from the enemy, who yet came on, in two columns, at the same distance of about a thousand yards, the sunlight gleaming on the lances of both Mexicans and Comanches. It began to seem to Phil as if they would always continue thus. Nevertheless, it was hard on the nerves, this incessant watching, as if one were guarding against a beast that might spring at any moment. Moreover, their force looked so large. But Phil glanced at the long-barreled rifles that the men of the train carried. They had proved far more than a match for muskets and lances.
"Will they attack us?" he asked Arenberg.
"Much harm iss meant," replied the German, "but they will not seek to do it until they think they see a chance. It iss time only that will tell."
The extraordinary march lasted all day. Neither side committed a single hostile act, and the silence, so far as the men were concerned, was unbroken. The distance of about a thousand yards was preserved, but the Mexicans and Comanches were still there, and it seemed that they did not intend to be shaken off. About sunset they came to one of the shallow prairie streams, this time a mere brook, but with plenty of water for their animals.
"Here we camp," said Bill Breakstone, and almost as he spoke Middleton gave the word. One line of wagons went forward, the other stopped, the two ends joined, and then they swung around in a circle, with the stream flowing down the center of the enclosure. It was all done with so much celerity and so little trouble that the Mexicans and Comanches seemed to be taken by surprise. A few of them rode nearer, and some of the Comanches fired arrows, but they fell far short, and the Americans paid no attention to them.
"We'll take a bite and a drink, Phil," said Bill Breakstone, "a bite of cold meat and a drink of cold water."
"It iss good," said Arenberg. "That iss what we will do."
They had no fuel with which to light fires, but there were lanterns carrying candles in the train, and these were hung on the sides of the wagons facing the inner ring, casting a pleasant light on the men as they passed. But Phil and his two comrades, food in hand, went outside.
"Hope it won't come on too dark," said Breakstone. "A thick night is what we've got to dread. If our friends out there mean to do anything, they'll try it to-night, or I'm mightily fooled."
In the east, where the enemy hung, the twilight had come already and now both Mexicans and Comanches were blurring with the darkness. A lance blade or two gave back a last flash of fire from the setting sun, but in a few more instants the rays ceased to reach them, and they sank into the night of the eastern plain.