Altsheler Joseph Alexander
The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista

Phil was intensely interested. The Indian had alwaysappealed to his romantic imagination, and, now that hesaw one of the race close at hand, he wished to learnmore. He sat down near the man, and, not knowingwhat else to say, remarked that it was a fine day. TheComanche raised his head a little, and bent upon Phil alook like that he had given to Breakstone. It was apiercing glance, full of anger and hatred. Then theglowing eyes were veiled, and his head dropped back onhis arms. He did not utter a word in reply.

The innkeeper, who had noticed the brief incident, laughed.

"Don't you try to get up a conversation with BlackPanther, my boy," he said. "He ain't what you wouldcall a pow'ful talker."

"No, I suppose he wouldn't talk anybody to death,"said Phil. "What is he?"

"He's a tame Comanche, an' he's been loafing aroundNew Orleans for two or three months-learnin' the whiteman's vices, 'specially the drinkin' of fire water, whichhe keeps first on the list. You can see what it's done forhim-taken all the pith right out of him, same as youwould take it out of a length of elder to make a pop gun.I reckon New Orleans ain't no place for an Indian.Hello, what's the matter with Black Panther?"

The Indian uttered a short, savage exclamation thatstartled every one in the place, and sprang to his feet.His long coal black hair was thrown back from his face, and he seemed to be alive in every fiber. The eyes werelike two points of fire.

"Black Panther was a great warrior and a chief," hesaid. "He has been a dog in the white man's town, andhe has burned his brain with fire water until it is likethat of a little child. But he will be a great warrior anda chief again. Now, I go."

He gathered a tattered old blanket around his shoulders, and, holding himself erect, stalked in savage dignityout of the place.

"Now, what in thunder did he mean?" exclaimed theastonished innkeeper.

"I think he meant just what he said," replied Phil."He is going away from New Orleans. He certainlylooked it."

So far as he knew, the assertion was true, because, aslong as he remained in the city, he neither saw nor heardanything further of the Comanche. But the time for hisown departure was soon at hand, and in the excitementof it he forgot all about the Comanche.

CHAPTER II
THE MARCH OF THE TRAIN

The train made an imposing appearance with itssixty wagons and its horsemen, numerous and wellarmed. It was commanded by a middle-agedtrader of experience, Thomas Woodfall, who had alreadymade several trips to Santa Fé, and the hopes of all werehigh. They carried, among other things, goods that theseñoras and señoritas of Santa Fé would be eager to buy, and much gain might be obtained. But every one of thefour who rode so closely together thought most in hisheart of that for which he sought, and in no instance wasthe object of search the same.

But they were cheerful. Whatever were past griefs orwhatever might be those to come, the present waspropitious and fair. The Southern spring was not yet advancedfar enough to drive the cool tang out of the air bydaylight, while at night fires were needed. It rained butlittle, and they marched steadily on through crisp sunshine.

"I trust that the good Sir Roland is pleased," saidBill Breakstone to Phil. "Fresh air in the lungs ofyouth produces exhilaration."

"It's fine," said Phil, with emphasis.

"But we may yet come to our Pass of Roncesvalles.Bethink you of that, Sir Roland. They say that it's anill wind that blows nobody good, and I say that it's agood wind that blows nobody ill. The rain will rain, thesnow will snow, the wind will blow, and what will poorrabbit do then?"

"Get into his little nest, cover himself up warm anddry, and wait until it passes," replied Phil.

"Right, Master Philip. Go up to the head of theclass," said Bill Breakstone in his usual joyous tones-Philalways thought that Bill had the cheeriest voicein the world-"I'm glad to see you taking thought forthe future. Now our good friend Hans, here, would nothave made such an apt reply."

"Perhaps not, and I do not mind your saying so,Herr Bill Breakstone," said Arenberg, smiling broadly."No harm iss done where none iss meant."

"A fit answer from a loyal representative of theHohenstauffens, the Hohenzollerns, and theKatzenellenbogens," chanted Bill Breakstone.

"Ah, Herr Breakstone, it iss that you are one happyman," said Arenberg. "I wonder that you go to findsomething, when you have the joy of living anywhere."

"But I do go to find something," said Breakstone, suddenly becoming grave. Phil noticed that he puckeredup his eyes and gazed far into the West, as if he wouldsee already that for which he sought.

They traveled for several days among plantations in alow damp country, and then they passed suddenly beyondthe line of cultivation into a drier region of low hills andsmall prairies. Phil was pleased with the change. Ifthey were going into the wilderness, he was anxious toreach it as soon as possible, and this, beyond a doubt, wasthe edge of the unknown. The first night that he heardthe scream of a panther in the woods he felt that theywere leaving all civilization behind, and that, save for thetrain, the world of men was blotted out.

Yet it was very pleasant as long as the weatherremained dry, and the early spring was certainly doing itsbest. It was a succession of crisp days and cool nights, and Phil liked the steady advance by day through newlands, and the rest in the evening, when they built firesfor the cooking and to fend off the chill. They usuallydrew the wagons up in a circle in one of the littleprairies, and then went to the forest near by for woodthat belonged to whomsoever took it. Phil and BillBreakstone were always active in this work.

"It gives me an appetite for supper," said Breakstone."I would have you to know, Sir Philip of theForest, that sitting long hours on a horse which carriesme luxuriously along, the horse doing all the work and Idoing none, tends to laziness and fat. I need thisexercise to put me in proper trim for the luscious repast thatawaits us."

"I don't need anything to whet my appetite," repliedPhil, as he laughed. "To tell you the truth, Bill, I'malways hungry."

"Do not grieve or have fears for the larder, Sir Philipof the Hungry Countenance. There is an abundance offood in the wagons, and we also shall soon be in a goodgame country. Unless my eye and hand have lost theircunning, a fat deer shall speedily be roasting over thecoals."

The four kept close together, and they usuallygathered around the fire at which Thomas Woodfall, theleader, sat. Woodfall had shown a decided respect andliking for Middleton, and, following the custom whichBreakstone had established, always addressed him as Cap, short for Captain. Phil and Breakstone had beenparticularly active gathering wood that evening, and it hadbeen Phil's task and pleasure, when it was all put in aheap, to light it. Now he was watching the little flamesgrow into big ones, and the yellow light turn to blazingred. He listened, also, as the flames hissed a littlebefore the wind, and the dry boughs snapped and crackledunder the fiery torch. Middleton regarded him withkindly approval.

"A good boy," he said to Woodfall. "A lad withfine instincts and a brave spirit."

"And a mighty handy one, too," said Woodfall."I've noticed how he works. He's as big and strongas a man, and I never saw anybody else who was justprized down like a hogshead of tobacco, crowded full ofzeal."

"I think it likely he will need it all before our journeyis over," said Middleton.

"It's probable," repeated Woodfall, "but I'll askyou, Cap, not to speak it. It may be that thisexpedition was begun at the wrong time. I had heard, and theowners had heard, that the troubles with Mexico werequieting down, but it seems that, instead of doing so, they are getting livelier."

"I shall certainly say nothing about it to our peoplehere," replied Middleton. "Cheerful hearts are the best, and we may have trouble with neither Mexicans norIndians."

Phil himself was not thinking at that moment ofeither yellow or red foes. His fire had grown into amighty pyramid, and, as the dead wood burned fast, itsoon sank down into a great mass of glowing coals.Then he, Breakstone, and Arenberg boiled coffee in bigiron pots, and cooked bread and many slices of bacon.The night was cool and nipping, but the coals threw outan abundance of heat. A delicious aroma arose andspread far. Everybody came forward with tin cup andtin plate, and helped himself. Phil took his filled platein one hand, his filled cup in the other, and sat down ona fallen log with Breakstone and Arenberg.

"In my time, and as an ornament to the stage," saidBill Breakstone, "I have eaten some bountiful repasts. Ihave feasted as a prince, a duke, or some other lordling.I have been the wrestler in the Forest of Arden withRosalind and Celia. I have had my head deep in themug of sack, as Sir John Falstaff, but most of thosemagnificent repasts depended largely upon the imagination.Here I am neither prince nor duke, but the food isreal, and the air is so good that one might even bite achip with a certain pleasure. Excuse me, Sir Philip ofthe Forest, while I even drain the coffee-cup."

He took it all down at one draught, and a beatificglow overspread his face. Arenberg regarded him withadmiration.

"Ach, Mein Herr Breakstone, but you are one cheerfulman!" he said. "You never do any harm, becausenone iss meant. When you drink the coffee you makeme think of the German in the old country drinking beer, and you like it as well."

"I snatch the joys of the flying day, or, rather, night, and think not of the ills of the morrow," repliedBreakstone. "Somebody somewhere said something like that, and, whoever he was, he was a good talker. To-morrow,Phil, I think I may get a chance to show you how toshoot a deer."

"I hope so," said Phil eagerly. He, too, was luxuriating, and he was fully as cheerful as Bill Breakstone.The great beds of coal threw a warm, luminous glow overall the circle enveloped by the wagons. Everybody ateand felt good. The pleasant hum of pleasant talk arose.Outside the wagons the tethered horses cropped the shortyoung grass, and they, too, were content. Not far awaythe forest of magnolia, poplar, and many kinds of oakrustled before the slight wind, and the note that camefrom it was also of content.

Phil, after he had eaten and drunk all that he wished, and it was much, lay on the ground with his back againstthe log and listened to the talk. He heard wonderfultales of adventure in the West Indies and on the SouthAmerican coast, of fights in Mexico and Texas, when thelittle bands of Texans won their independence, ofencounters with raiding Comanches, and of strange stone ruinsleft by vanished races in the deserts of the Far West.He was fascinated as he listened. The spirit of romancewas developed strongly within him. It was, indeed, amost adventurous search upon which he was embarked, and this spirit, strong, enduring, hardened to meet allthings, was what he needed most.

As the fires died down, and the warmth decreased, hewrapped his blanket around himself, and now and thendozed a little. But he still felt very content. It seemedto him that it was uncommon fortune to have joinedsuch an expedition, and it was a good omen. He mustsucceed in his great search.

"Well, Sir Roland, what is it?" said Bill Breakstoneat last. "Do you want to sleep in the wagon or on theground here? The good Knight Orlando, who for thepresent is myself, means to choose the ground."

"No stuffy wagon for me on a night like this," rejoinedPhil sleepily. "I am going to sleep just where I lie."

He settled back more comfortably, put his arm underhis head, and in a few moments was in the deep, dreamlesssleep of youth and health. Bill Breakstone quicklyfollowed him to that pleasant land of Nowhere. ThenArenberg and the Captain were soon entering the sameregion. The fires sank lower and lower, the sound ofbreathing from many men arose, the horses outsidebecame quiet, and peace settled over the wildernesscamp.

Phil slept far into the night, he never knew how far, but he believed it was about half way between midnightand morning. When he awoke it was very dark, andthere was no noise but that of the breathing men and therustling wind. Just why he, a sound sleeper, hadawakened at that time he could not say. But he had eatenlargely, and he was conscious of thirst, a thirst thatcould be quenched easily at a little spring in the wood.

The boy rose, letting his blanket drop to the ground, and glanced over the sleeping camp. Despite thedarkness, he saw the forms of recumbent men, and some coalsthat yet glimmered faintly. Around them was the darkcircling line of the wagons. No regular watch was keptas they were yet far from dangerous country, and, passingbetween two of the wagons, Phil went toward the spring, which was about three hundred yards away.

It was a nice cold spring, rising at the base of a rock, and running away in a tiny stream among the poplars.Phil knelt and drank, and then sat upon an upthrustroot. The desire for sleep had left him, and his mindturned upon his great search. He took the paper from theinside pocket of his coat, unfolded it, and smoothed itout with his fingers. It was too dark for him to read it, but he held it there a little while, then folded it upagain, and returned it to its resting place. He wasabout to rise again and return to the camp, butsomething moved in the thicket. It might have been a lizard,or it might have been the wind, but he was sure it wasneither. The sound was wholly out of harmony with thenote of the night.

Phil remained sitting on the upthrust root, but leanedagainst the trunk to which the root belonged. His figureblended darkly against the bark. Only an eye ofuncommon acuteness would note him. The slight stirring, somuch out of tune with all the wilderness noises, cameagain, and, despite his strength and will, both of whichwere great, Phil felt ice pass along his spine, and hishair rose slightly. That uncanny hour at which evildeeds happen held him in its spell. But he did not move, except for the slipping of his hand to the pistol in hisbelt, and he waited.

Slowly a dark face formed itself in the bushes, andbeneath it was the faint outline of a human figure. Theface was malignant and cruel, a reddish copper in color, with a sharp, strong chin, high cheek-bones, and blackglowing eyes. These eyes were bent in a fierce gaze uponthe circle of wagons. They did not turn in Phil'sdirection at all, but the face held him fascinated.

It seemed to Phil that he had seen that countenancebefore, and as he gazed he remembered. It was surelythat of Black Panther, the Comanche, but what astartling change. The crouching, fuddled lump of a man intattered clothes, whom he had seen in New Orleans, hadbeen transformed when the breath of the wildernesspoured into his lungs. He fitted thoroughly into thisdark and weird scene, and the hair on Phil's head rosea little more. Then the head, and the figure with it, suddenly melted away and were gone. There was nostrange stirring in the thicket, nothing that was not inaccord with the night.

The ice left Phil's spine, the hair lay down peacefullyonce more on his head, and his hand moved away fromthe pistol at his belt. It was like a dream in the dark, the sudden appearance of that Medusa head in the bushes, and he was impressed with all the weight of convictionthat it was an omen of bad days to come. The windwhispered it, and the quiver in his blood answered. Butthe men in the train might laugh at him if he told thathe had merely seen an Indian's face in the bushes. Thething itself would be slight enough in the telling, and hedid not wish to be ridiculed as a boy whose fears hadpainted a picture of that which was not. But he walkedwarily back, and he was glad enough when he repassedbetween two of the wagons, and resumed his old place.Middleton, Arenberg, and Bill Breakstone all sleptsoundly, and Phil, wrapped in his blanket, sought toimitate them. But he could not. He lay there thinkinguntil the low band of scarlet in the east foreshadowed theday. He rose and looked once more over the camp. Thelast coal had died, and the dark forms, wrapped in theirblankets, looked chill and cold. But the red dawn wasadvancing, and warmth came with it. One by one themen awoke. The horses stirred. Phil stood up andstretched his arms. Middleton, Bill Breakstone, andArenberg awoke. They had slept soundly and pleasantlyall through the night.

"'Tis a fine couch, this Mother Earth," said BillBreakstone, "finer than cloth of gold, if it be not rainingor snowing, or the winds be not nipping. Then, in suchevent, I should take the cloth of gold, with a snug tentover it."

"I have slept well, and I awake strong and refreshed,"said Arenberg simply. "It iss all I ask of a night."

"I have not slept well," said Phil, "at least I didnot during the latter part of the night."

There was a certain significance in his tone, and theothers looked at him. Only they were near, and Philsaid in a low tone:

"I awoke in the night, and I was restless. I walkeddown to the spring for a drink, and I saw a face in thebushes, the face of a man who was watching us."

"Ah!" said Middleton, a single monosyllable, longdrawn. But his tone expressed interest, not surprise.He looked at the boy as if he expected to hear more.

"I saw the face clearly," continued Phil. "It waschanged, wonderfully changed in expression, but I knewit. I could not be mistaken. It was that Comanche, called Black Panther, whom we saw in New Orleans. Hewas dirty and degraded there, but he did not seem so lastnight."

"I am glad that you told this, Phil," said Middleton."It was a lucky chance that awakened you and sent youto the spring."

"Once I thought I would not speak of it at all," saidthe boy. "I was afraid they would say it was only adream or a creation of my fancy."

"I'm sure that you really saw it," said Middleton,"and I will speak with Mr. Woodfall. The time hascome when we must be cautious."

The camp was now wholly awake, and the men beganto light the fires anew, and take their breakfasts.Middleton talked with Mr. Woodfall, and, as the latter keptit no secret, the news soon spread throughout the train.Philip Bedford, prowling about in the dark, had seen anIndian in the woods near by, an Indian who seemed tobe watching them.

The news was variously received, because there weremany kinds of men in this train. Some took it seriously; others were disposed to laugh, and to hint, as Philhad feared, that it was fancy or a dream; and others carednothing about it. What was a single wandering warriorto them? But the leader compelled a more carefuladvance. Scouts were sent ahead, and others rode on theflanks. Phil and his comrades shared in this duty, andthat very day he and Bill Breakstone and Arenberg wereamong those who rode ahead.

It was not an easy duty, because they were now inthick forest, with much swampy ground about. Darkfunereal cypresses abounded in the marshy soil, andgloomy moss hung from the live oaks. A deer sprangup, and Phil pulled down his rifle, but Breakstone wouldnot let him shoot.

"Not now, Phil," he said. "We must not shoot atchance game when we are scouting. My talk may notsound like it, but I know something of wilderness life.One can never be too cautious, whether on the plains orin the woods. Things may happen. Wait for them.As the poet saith, 'One crowded hour of glorious life isworth a world without a name.'"

"Say that again," said Arenberg.

"One crowded hour of glorious life is worth a worldwithout a name."

"It sounds good. It iss good. I will remember it,"said the German.

But as two or three days passed with no sign of trouble, the face that Phil had seen in the bushes was forgottenor ignored. It was a light-hearted crowd, used towild life and adventure, and these men, drawn fromdifferent parts of the globe, occupied with to-day, tooklittle thought of to-morrow's dangers. The weatherremained beautiful. Days and nights were dry, and theywere again on good firm earth, which made the way of thewagons easy. Phil, instructed by Bill Breakstone, stalkedand shot a deer, a fine, fat buck, which gave a slice foreverybody in the train, and which brought him compliments.In fact, he was already a general favorite, and hedid not mind when they jested now and then about theface in the bushes, and told him that he was a seer ofvisions. He was rapidly becoming an adept in the forestlife, to which he took naturally, and in Bill Breakstonehe had no mean tutor. Breakstone soon showed that hewas a scout and trailer of the first quality, although hedid not explain why he had spent so many years in thewilds.

"It's partly gift, and partly training, Sir Philip ofthe Youthful Countenance and of the Good Blue Eye,"he said. "If you just teach yourself to see everythingand to hear everything about you, and never forget it, you've got most of the lesson. And you, Phil, with goodeyes, good ears, a quick mind, and a willing heart, ought to come fast toward the head of the class."

Phil flushed with pleasure. In the task that he hadset for himself he greatly needed forest lore, and it was akeen satisfaction to know that he was acquiring it. Heredoubled his efforts. He always noted carefully thecountry through which they passed, the configuration ofthe earth, and the various kinds of trees and bushes.At night he would often ask Bill Breakstone to questionhim, and from his superior knowledge and longertraining to point out a mistake whenever he might make it.Bill was a severe teacher, and he criticised freelywhenever Phil was wrong. But he admitted that his pupilwas making progress. Arenberg was smoking his pipeat one of their sittings, and, taking it out of his mouth,he remarked:

"No harm iss done where none iss meant. Now whatI wish to ask you, Herr Breakstone, and you, young HerrPhilip, would you remember all your lessons if you wereon foot on the prairie, unarmed, and a wild Comanchewarrior were riding at you, ready to run his lance throughyou?"

"I don't know," replied Phil frankly, "but I hopesuch a time will never come."

"That's the rub," said Arenberg meditatively. "Itiss good to know all the rules, to do all you can before, but it iss better to think fast, and act right when thegreat emergency comes. It iss only then that you are ofthe first class. I say so, and I say so because I know."

Only Phil noticed the faint tone of sadness with whichhis words ended, and he glanced quickly at the German.But Arenberg's face expressed nothing. Once more hewas pulling calmly at his pipe. Bill Breakstone gave hiswords hearty indorsement.

"You're right," he said. "The Grand Duke of Germanyspeaks the truth. I've embodied that piece ofwisdom in a little poem, which I will quote to you:

 
"You may lead a horse to the water,
But you cannot make him drink.
You may stuff a man with knowledge,
But you cannot make him think.
 

"Part of that is borrowed, and part of it is original, but, combining the two parts, I think it is a little masterpiece."

Arenberg took out his pipe again, and regarded BillBreakstone with admiration.

"It iss one great man, this Herr Bill Breakstone," hesaid. "He makes poetry and tells the truth at the sametime."

"Thanks, most puissant lord," said Breakstone, "andnow, the lesson being over, Phil, I think we might all ofus go to sleep and knit up a few raveled sleeves of care."

"We might take to the wagon," said Middleton. "IfI'm any judge of weather, Phil, the beautiful spell thatwe've had is coming to an end."

"You're right, Cap," said Breakstone. "I noticedthat when the sun set to-day it looked redder than usualthrough a cloud of mist, and that means rain. Therefore,Orlando deserts his little Forest of Arden, andbetakes himself to the shelter of the curved canvas."

Phil deemed it wise to imitate him, and the fourfound places in the large wagon among their goods, wherethey had the shelter of the canvas roof, although thecover was open at either end to allow the clean sweep ofthe air. Phil, as usual, slept well. Five minutes wasabout all he needed for the preparatory stage, andto-night was no exception. But he awoke again in themiddle of the night. Now he knew full well the cause. Lowthunder was rumbling far off at the edge of the earth, anda stroke of lightning made him wink his sleepy eyes.Then came a rush of cold air, and after it the rain. Thebig drops rattled on the curving canvas roof, but theycould not penetrate the thick cloth. Phil raised himselfa little, and looked out at the open ends, but he saw onlydarkness.

Meanwhile the rain increased and beat harder uponthe roof, which shed it like shingles. Phil drew hisblanket up to his chin, rested his head and shoulders alittle more easily against a bag of meal, and never had agreater sense of luxury in his life. The beat of the rainon the canvas was like the patter of the rain on the roofof the old home, when he was a little boy and lay snugunder the eaves. He had the same pleasant sense ofwarmth and shelter now. The storm might beat abouthim, but it could not touch him. He heard the evenbreathing of his comrades, who had not awakened. Heheard the low thunder still grumbling far off in thesouth-west, and the lightning came again at intervals, but hesank gently back to slumber.

When he awoke the next morning the rain was stillfalling, and the whole world was a sodden gray. Theair, too, was full of raw chill, despite the southernlatitude, and Phil shivered. It was his first impulse to drawthe blanket more tightly, but he resolutely put the impulsedown. He threw the blanket aside, slipped on his coatand boots, the only apparel that he had removed for thenight's rest, and sprang out into the rain, leaving hiscomrade still asleep.

Not many of the men were yet up, and Phil went atonce into the forest in search of fallen wood, which wasalways abundant. It was not a pleasant task. For thefirst time he felt the work hard and disagreeable. Mistsand vapors were rising from the wet earth, and the sundid not show. The rain came down steadily, and it wascold to the touch. It soaked through the boy's clothing, but he stuck to his task, and brought in the dead wood bythe armful. At the third load he met Bill Breakstone, who hailed him cheerily.

"Well, you do make me ashamed of myself, SirKnight of the Dripping Forest," he said. "When weawoke and found you already up and at work, weconcluded that it was time for us to imitate so good anexample. Ugh, how cold this rain is, and we five hundredmiles from an umbrella!"

Phil was compelled to laugh, and then the laugh madehim feel better. But it was a morning that might welloppress the bravest. The wet wood was lighted withextreme difficulty, and then it smoked greatly under therain. It was hard to do the cooking, and breakfast wasnot satisfying. But Phil refused to make any complaint.With the rain in his face, he spoke cheerfully of sunshineand warm dry plains.

"We ought to strike the plains of Texas to-morrow orthe next day," said Bill Breakstone. "I've been throughthis region before, and I don't think I'm mistaken.Then we'll get out of this. If it's a long lane that has noturning, it's one just as long that has no end."

They started late, and deep depression hung over thetrain. The men no longer sang or made jokes at theexpense of one another, but crouched upon their horses orthe wagon seats, and maintained a sullen silence. Philwas on horseback, but he dried himself at one of the fires, and with the blanket wrapped around his body he wasnow fairly well protected. It was hard to maintain apleasant face, but he did it, and Middleton, whom allnow usually called Cap, looked his approval.

They advanced very slowly through thickets and acrossemail streams, with mists and vapors so dense that theycould see but little ahead. They did not make more thanseven or eight miles that day, and, wet and miserable, they camped for the night. The guard was stillmaintained, and Phil was on duty that night until twelve.When midnight came he crawled into the wagon, depressed and thoroughly exhausted. But he slept well, and the next morning the rain was over. The mists andvapors were gone, and a beautiful sun was shining. Allof Phil's good spirits came back as he sprang out of thewagon and looked at the drying earth.

The whole camp was transformed. The cooking firesburned ruddily and with a merry crackle. The men sangtheir little songs and made their little jokes. They toldone another joyously that they would be out of the forestsoon and upon the open prairies. They would be inTexas-Texas, that wonderful land of mystery andcharm; Texas, already famous for the Alamo and SanJacinto. The fact that this Texas was filled with dangerstook nothing from the glow at their hearts. Phil sharedin the general enthusiasm, and cried with the others,"Ho for Texas!"

Arenberg's face became very grave.

"Do not be carried away with the high feelings thatrun to the head," he said. "No harm iss done wherenone iss meant, but it iss a long road across Texas, andthere iss no mile of it which does not have its dangers.Who should know better than I?"

"You speak the truth," said Middleton. "I oftenthink of that Comanche, Black Panther, whose face Philsaw in the thicket."

"You are right to speak of it," said Bill Breakstone."I have been in the West. I have spent years there. Ihave been in places that no other white man has everseen, and just when you think this West, beyond thewhite man's frontier, is most peaceful, then it is mostdangerous. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, was a dreamykind of fellow, but when the time came he was a holyterror."

Phil was impressed, but in a little while it seemed tohim that it could scarcely be so. The threat containedin Black Panther's face was fading fast from his mind, and danger seemed to him very far. His exuberance ofspirit was heightened by the easy journey that they nowhad through a forest without any undergrowth. Thewagons rolled easily over short, young grass, and thethick boughs of the trees overhead protected them fromthe sun.