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

"Catarina got the keys-there are duplicates to all thecells-so we sent that up early, and on the day beforeyour escape she stole the one to the big gate that guardsthe stairway. It was easy enough to steal the clothes forBreakstone, take him in as a servant, and his nerve andyours did the rest. But we must never forget Catarinaand her son Porfirio, the vaquero. Without them wecould have done nothing."

"I'm prouder of it than of any other thing in which Iever took part," said Bill Breakstone.

"It was not one miracle, it was a chain of them,"said John Bedford.

"Whatever it was, here we all are," said Phil.

CHAPTER XIX
ARENBERG'S QUEST

It was necessary for several reasons to remain somedays in the cove. John Bedford's strength must berestored. After the long confinement and the greatexcitement of his escape, he suffered from a little fever, and it was deemed best that he should lie quiet in thecabin. Phil stayed with him most of the time, whileBreakstone and Arenberg hunted cautiously among themountains, bringing in several deer. They incurred littlerisk in their pursuit, because the mountaineers, few innumber at any time, were all drawn off by the war.

John had a splendid constitution, and, with this as abasis, good and abundant food and the delight of beingfree built him up very fast. On the fourth day BillBreakstone came in with news received through thePorfirio-Catarina telegraph that the escape of John had causeda great stir at the castle. Nobody could account for it, and nobody was suspected. De Armijo was sufferingfrom a very painful wound in the face, and would leaveon the following day for the capital to receive surgicaltreatment.

"I'm going to see Porfirio for the last time to-morrow,"said Breakstone, "and as we have some gold leftamong us, I suggest that we make a purse of half of itand give it to him. Money can't repay him and hismother for all they've done, but it may serve as aninstalment."

All were willing, and Breakstone departed with a hundreddollars. He reported on the day following thatPorfirio had received it with great gratitude, and that, asthey were now rich, he and his mother were going to buya little house of their own among the hills.

"And now," said Breakstone, "as John here has beengaining about five pounds a day, and is as frisky as atwo year old just turned out to pasture, I think we'dbetter start."

It was late in the afternoon when he said these words, and they were all present in the cabin. Three pairs ofeyes turned toward Arenberg. A sigh swelled the chestof the German, but he checked it at the lips. Withoutsaying a word he drew a little packet from the inside ofhis waistcoat and handed it to Phil, who was nearest.

Phil looked at it long and attentively. It was theportrait of a little boy, about seven, with yellow hair andblue eyes, a fair little lad who looked out from the picturewith eyes of mirth and confidence. The resemblance toArenberg was unmistakable. Phil passed it to Breakstone, who, after a look, passed it on to John, who in histurn, after a similar look, gave it back to Arenberg.

"Your boy?" said Breakstone.

Arenberg nodded. The others, sympathetic and feelingthat they were in the presence of a great grief, waiteduntil he should choose to speak.

"It iss the picture of my boy," said Arenberg at last."Hiss name is William-Billy we called him. I cameto this country and settled in Texas, which was then apart of Mexico. I married an American girl, and thisiss our boy. We lived at New Braunfels in Texas withthe people from Germany. She died. Perhaps it iss aswell that she did. It sounds strange to hear me say it, but it iss true. The Comanches came, they surprisedand raided the town, they killed many, and they carriedaway many women and children. Ah, the poor womenwho have never been heard of again! My little boy wasamong those carried off. I fought, I was wounded threetimes, I was in a delirium for days afterward.

"As soon as I could ride a horse again I tried tofollow the Comanches. They had gone to the Northwest, and I was sure that they had not killed Billy. Theytake such little boys and turn them into savage warriors, training them through the years. I followed alonetoward the western Comanche villages for a long time, and then I lost the trail. I searched again and again. Inearly died of thirst in the desert; another time only luckkept me from freezing in a Norther. I saw, alas! that Icould not do anything alone. I went all the way to NewOrleans, whence, I learned, a great train for Santa Fé wasgoing to start. Perhaps among the fearless spirits thatgather for such an expedition I could find friends whowould help me in my hunt. I have found them."

Arenberg stopped, his tale told, his chest heaving withemotion, but no word passing his lips. Bill Breakstonewas the first to speak.

"Hans," he said, "you have had to turn aside fromyour quest to help in Phil's, which is now finished, andyou have done a big part; now we swear one and all tohelp you to the extent of our lives in yours, and here'smy hand on it."

He solemnly gave his hand to Arenberg, who gave ita convulsive grasp in his own big palm. Phil and Johnpledged their faith in the same manner, and moisturedimmed Arenberg's honest eyes.

"It will be all right, Hans, old man," said Breakstone."We'll get your boy sure. About how old is he now?"

"Ten."

"Then the Comanches have certainly adopted him.They'd take a boy at just about the age he was captured, six or seven, because he would soon be old enough to rideand take care of himself, and he's not too old to forget allabout his white life and to become a thorough Indian.That logic is good. You can rely on it, Hans."

"It iss so! I feel it iss so!" said Arenberg. "I feelthat my boy iss out there somewhere with the Comancheriders, and that we will find him."

"Of course we will," said Breakstone cheerfully."Phil, you see that a place is registered in this companyfor one William Arenberg, blue eyes, light hair, faircomplexion, age ten years. Meanwhile I want to tell you,John Bedford, that we were so certain of getting you, inspite of the impossible, that we brought along an extrarifle, pistol, and ammunition, and that we also have ahorse for you over in the valley with the others."

"It's like all that you have done for me," said John,"thorough and complete."

They went over into the valley the next day, saddledand bridled the horses, and, well provided with food andammunition, started for the vast plains of NorthwesternTexas, on what would have seemed to others a hopelessquest, distance and space alike were so great. Whenthey came out upon one of the early ridges John had asudden and distinct view of the Castle of Montevideolying below, honey-colored, huge, and threatening. Ashudder that had in it an actual tinge of physical painpassed through him. One cannot forget in a momentthree years between stone walls. But the shudder wasquickly gone, and, in its place, came a thrill of pure joy.Freedom, freedom itself, irrespective of all other goodthings, still sparkled so gloriously in his veins that italone could make him wholly happy.

They rode on over the ridge. John looked back. TheCastle of Montevideo was shut from his view now forever, although he never ceased to remember the minutest detailof Cell 87 and the little patch of mountainside thatcould be seen from the deep loophole of a window.

But they were all joyous, Phil because he had foundand rescued his brother, John because he had been foundand rescued, Bill Breakstone because he had helped ingreat deeds ending in triumph, and Hans Arenbergbecause they were now engaged upon his own quest, thequest that lay next to his heart, and these comrades ofhis were the best and most loyal that a man could everhave for such a service. Three or four years rolled awayfrom Hans Arenberg, the blue eyes grew brighter, thepink in his cheeks deepened, and Phil, looking at him, saw that he was really a young man. Before, he hadalways made upon his mind the impression of middle age.

They rode steadily toward the northwest for manydays without serious adventure. Once or twice theyencountered small bands of Mexican guerillas, with whomthey exchanged distant shots without harm, but the warwas now south of them, and soon they passed entirelybeyond its fringe, leaving the mountains also behindthem. They met various American scouts and trappers, from whom they bought a couple of pack horses, two goodrifles, and a large supply of fresh ammunition. It wasexplained by Bill Breakstone, who said:

 
"More than enough
Merely makes weight,
Leas than enough,
You're doomed by fate."
 

The two extra horses were trained to follow, and theycaused no trouble. They carried the supplies of sparearms and ammunition and also of dried venison for theintervals in which they might find no game. They alsofound it wise to take skin bags of water, buying the bagsat a village occupied by American troops, which theypassed. They found Northern Mexico almost at peace.Resistance to the Americans there had ceased practically, and in the towns buying and selling, living and dyingwent on as usual. They had nothing to guard againstbut sudden ambushes by little bands of guerillas, andthey were now all so experienced and so skilled with therifle that they feared no such trap.

It was wonderful at this time to watch John Bedfordgrow. He had already reached the stature and frame ofa man, but when he came from the Castle of Montevideohe was a frame, and not much more. Now the fleshformed fast upon this frame, cords and knots of musclegrew upon his arms, his cheeks filled out, the prisonpallor disappeared and gave way to a fine healthy brown, the creation of the Southern sun, his breath came deepand regular from strong lungs, and he duly notified BillBreakstone that within another month he would challengehim to a match at leaping, wrestling, jumping, boxing,or any other contest he wished. They had also boughtgood clothes for him at one of the villages, and he wasnow a stalwart young man, anxious to live intensely andto make up the three years that he had lost.

Meantime, leaving the Mexican mountains and thealkali desert of the plateau behind them, they came tothe Rio Grande, though farther west than their firstpassage. Here they stopped and looked awhile at thestream, a large volume of water flowing in its widechannel of sand. Phil felt emotion. Many and great eventshad happened since he saw that water flowing by the yearbefore, and the miracle for which he hoped had beenaccomplished. To-day they were upon a quest other thanhis own, but they pursued it with an equal zeal, and hebelieved that all the omens and presages were in theirfavor.

They found a safe passage through the sandyapproaches, swam the river upon their horses, and stoodonce more upon the soil of Texas. Phil felt that theywould have little more to do with Mexicans, but thatthey must dare the formidable power of the Comanches, which now lay before them.

They camped that night in chaparral, where they werewell concealed and built no fire. The weather was quitewarm again, save for those sudden but usually briefchanges of temperature that often occur in West Texas.But there was no sign of storm in the air, and they feltthat their blankets would be sufficient for thenight-however hot the day might be, the nights were alwayscool. Bill Breakstone had first beaten up the chaparralfor rattlesnakes, and, feeling safe from any unpleasantinterruption from that source, they spread out their blanketsand lay comfortably upon them while they discussed theplan of their further march.

They felt quite sure that, with the passage of Americantroops south, the Comanches had gone far to the westward.The Indians had already suffered too much fromthese formidable invaders to oppose their southwardmarch. Besides, they had received definite informationthat both Santana and Black Panther with their bandshad gone almost to the border of New Mexico. The solequestion with the four was whether to search over a widebelt of territory at once, or to go straight westward untilthey struck the Rio Grande again.

"I favor the long trip before we begin the hunt," saidBill Breakstone. "The chances are all in favor of theComanches being out there. The buffalo herds, whichwill soon be drifting southward, are thickest in that partof the country."

Breakstone's logic seemed good to the others, and thenext morning they began the long march through a regionmostly bare but full of interest for them all. Theypassed a river which flowed for many miles on a bed ofsand a half mile wide, and this sand everywhere wasthick with salt. From the bluffs farther back salt springsgushed forth and flowed down to the river.

Then they came upon the southern edge of the GreatStaked Plain of Texas, known long ago to the Spaniardsand Mexicans as the Llano Estacado. John Bedford, who was a little in advance, was the first to see thesouthern belt of timber. It had been discovered very soon thatJohn's eyes were the keenest of them all. He believedhimself that they had been strengthened by his longstaring through the loophole at the castle in order to makeout every detail of his little landscape on the farmountainside. Now he saw a faint dark line running alongthe horizon until it passed out of sight both to east andwest. He called Breakstone's attention to it at once, andthe wise Bill soon announced that it was the southern beltof the Cross Timbers, the two parallel strips of forestgrowing out of an otherwise treeless country which forhundreds of miles enclose a vast plain.

"It's the first belt," said Bill Breakstone, "and, while it's not as near as it looks, we're covering groundpretty fast, and we'll strike the timber before nightfall.How good it looks to see forest again."

Even the horses seemed to understand, as they raisedtheir heads, neighed, and then, without any urging fromtheir masters, increased their pace. Phil rode up by theside of his brother John, and watched the belt of timberrise from the plain. He had often heard of this strangefeature of the Texas wilds, but he had never expected tosee it.

A little before nightfall they rode out of a plain, perfectly bare behind them for hundreds of miles, into thetimber, which grew up in an arid country without anyapparent cause, watered by no rivers or creeks and by nomelting snows from mountains. Phil and John lookedaround with the greatest interest. The timber was ofoak, ash, and other varieties common in the Southwest, but the oak predominated. The trees were not of greatsize, but they were trees, and they looked magnificentafter the sparse cottonwoods and bushes along theshallow prairie streams that they had passed.

The foliage had already turned brown under the summersun, but there was fresh grass within the shadow ofthe trees, upon which the horses grazed eagerly whenthey were turned loose. The four meanwhile rejoiced, and looked around, seeking a place for a camp.

"How long is this belt, Bill?" asked Phil of Breakstone.

"I don't know, but maybe it's a thousand miles.There's two of them, you know. That's the reason theycall them the Cross Timbers. After you pass throughthis belt you cross about fifteen miles of perfectly bareplain, and then you come to the second belt, which istimbered exactly like this. One belt is about eight mileswide, the other about twelve miles wide, and, keeping anaverage distance of about fifteen miles apart, they run allthe way from the far western edge of these plains in asoutheasterly direction clean down to the Brazos andTrinity River bottoms, where they come together andmerge in the heavy timber. It's a most wonderful thing,Sir Philip of Buena Vista and Sir John of Montevideo, and it's worthy of any man's attention."

"It has mine, that's sure," said Phil, as he walkedabout through the forest. "It's an extraordinary freakof nature, but the roots of the two belts of timber mustbe fed by subterranean water, though it's strange thatthey should run parallel so many hundreds of miles, always separated by that strip of dry country fifteen mileswide, as you say, Bill."

"I can't account for it, Phil," replied Breakstone,"and I don't try. The people who don't believe in queerthings are those who stay at home and sit by the fire.I've roamed all my life, and I've had experience enoughto believe that anything is possible."

"Look!" exclaimed Phil in delight. "Here's ourcamp, just made for us!"

He pointed to a tiny spring oozing from beneath theroots of a large oak, flowing perhaps thirty yards and thenlosing itself beneath the roots of another large oak. Itlooked clear and fresh, and Phil, kneeling down anddrinking, found it cold and delightful. Bill Breakstonedid the same, with results equally happy.

"Yes, this was made for us," he said, confirmingPhil's words. "There are not many such springs that I everheard of in the Cross Timbers, and our luck holds good."

They called the others, who drank, and after them thehorses. It was an ideal place for a camp, and they feltso secure that they lighted a fire and cooked food, venison, and steaks of antelope and deer that they had shotby the way.

"It might be a good idea," said Breakstone, "to resthere in the shade a part of to-morrow. All of us havebeen riding pretty hard, and you know, Hans, old man, that if you go too fast you are not strong enough to dowhat you must do when you get there."

It was Arenberg whose feelings were now consultedmost, and, when they looked at him for an answer, henodded assent.

Hence they took some of their supplies from the packhorses, and made themselves more comfortable on the grassabout the little spring. Lengthy scouting, done byArenberg and Breakstone, showed that there was no dangerfrom Comanche, Lipan, or any other Indian tribes, andthey could take their rest without apprehension. Theyalso dared to build a fire for the cooking, a luxury whichthey enjoyed much, but which was usually dangerous inthe Indian country. Fallen and dry timber wasabundant, and when they had cooked a plentiful supply ofvenison and buffalo strips they fell to and ate with theappetite which only life under the stars can give. By and byBill Breakstone gazed at John in admiration. But Johntook no notice. He ate steadily on, varying the coursewith an occasional tin cup of water.

"Sir John Falstaff," said Bill Breakstone, "I've reada lot about you in Shakespeare, and on two or threememorable occasions I have played you. You have beenrenowned two hundred and fifty years for your appetite, and I want to tell you right now that your fame isn't upto the real thing by half. Say, Sir John, they didn'tgive you much to eat in that Castle of Montevideo, did they?"

"Tortillas, frijoles, tamales, tortillas, frijoles, tamales," replied John in a muffled voice, as he reached foranother delicate piece of fried deer.

"Go right on," said Bill Breakstone, "I've no wishto stop you. Make up for all the three years that youlost."

John, taking his advice, stuck to his task. Althoughimprisonment had greatly wasted him, it had neverimpaired his powerful and healthy constitution. Now hecould fairly feel his muscles and sinews growing and thenew life pouring into heart and lungs.

After supper they lay upon their blankets in a circle, with their feet to the fire, and spoke of the land thatstretched beyond the two belts of trees, the Great StakedPlain.

"We'll find it hot," said Breakstone, "and parts ofit are sandy and without water, but we should get throughto the Rio Grande, especially as we have, besides thesand, a big region of buffalo grass; and then the land ofgramma grass, in both of which we can find plenty ofgame. Game and water are the things for which wemust look. But we won't talk of trouble now. It's toofine here."

They spent the next day and the following nightamong the trees, and were fortunate enough to find in theoaks a number of fine wild turkeys which abounded in allparts of the Southwest. They secured four, and addedthem to their larder. The next day they rode throughthe belt, and across the twelve miles of bare country intothe second belt, which was exactly like the first, with theoak predominating.

"Makes me think of the rings of Saturn," said Phil,as they entered the timber once more.

But they passed the night only in the inner belt, andemerged the next morning upon the great plain that ranto the Rocky Mountains.

"Now," said Bill Breakstone, "we leave home and itscomforts behind."

Phil felt the truth of his words. He understood nowwhy the Bible put so much value upon wood and water.To leave the belt of trees was like going away from awooded park about one's house in order to enter a bleakwilderness. It was very hot after they passed from theshade, and before them stretched the rolling plains oncemore, without trees, reaching the sky-line, and rolling onbeyond it without limit. The sun was pouring down froma high sky that flamed like brass. Bill Breakstone caughtthe look on Phil's face and laughed.

"You hate to give up an easy place, don't you, Phil?"he said. "Don't deny it, because I hate it just as muchas you do. Arenberg alone forgets what lies before us, because he has so much to draw him on."

Arenberg was too far ahead to hear them. He alwaysrode in advance now, and the place was conceded to himas a right. They passed through a region of grammagrass which stood about three feet in height, and entereda stretch of buffalo grass, where little clumps of the grasswere scattered over the brown plain.

"It doesn't look as if great buffalo herds could be fedon tufts like that," said Phil.

"But they can be," said Bill Breakstone. "It looksscanty, but it's got some powerfully good property in it, because cattle as well as buffalo thrive on it as they doon nothing else. We ought to see buffalo hereabouts."

But for two days after entering this short grass regionthey saw not a single buffalo. Antelope, also, wereinvisible, and they began to be worried about their suppliesof food. Both Breakstone and Arenberg believed thatthere were hunting parties of Indians farther westward, and they kept a sharp watch for such dangerous horsemen,Fortunately they had been able to find enough water fortheir horses in little pools and an occasional spring, andthe animals retained their strength. Finally theyencamped one evening by the side of a prairie stream soslender that it was a mere trickle over the sand. It alsocontained a slight taste of salt, but not enough to keepboth men and horses from drinking eagerly.

After supper Phil took his rifle and walked up the littlestream. It had become a habit with the four, wheneverthey camped, to look about for game. But they had beendisappointed so often that Phil's quest now was purelymechanical. Still he was alert and ready. The trainingof the wilderness compelled any one with wisdom toacquire such quantities quickly. He walked perhaps half amile along the brook, which was edged here and therewith straggling bushes, and at other points with nothingat all. It was twilight now, and suddenly somethinghuge and brown rose up among a cluster of the dwarfbushes directly in Phil's path. In the fading light itloomed monstrous and misshapen, but Phil knew that itwas a lone bull buffalo, probably an old and evil-temperedoutcast from the herd. He saw that the big brutewas angry, but he was a cool hunter now, and, takingcareful aim, he planted a bullet near the vital spot. Thebuffalo, head down, charged directly at him, but heleaped to one side and, as the mortally stricken beast ranon, he reloaded and sent in a second bullet, which promptlybrought him to earth.

Still practicing that wilderness caution which neverallows a man's rifle to remain unloaded, he rammed homea third bullet, and then contemplated his quarry, anenormous bull, scarred from fights and undoubtedly tougheating. But Phil was very happy. It was in this casenot the pride of the hunter, but the joy of the commissary.Tough though this bull might be, there was enoughof him to feed the four many a long day.

While he was standing there he heard the sound ofrunning feet, and he knew that it was the others comingto the report of his shots. Bill Breakstone first hove intoview.

"What is it, Phil?" he cried, not yet seeing themountain of buffalo that lay upon the ground.

"Nothing much," replied Phil carelessly, "only I'vekilled a whole buffalo herd while you three lazy fellowswere lying upon the ground playing mumble peg, or doingsomething else trivial. I'll get you trained to work afterawhile."

Breakstone saw the buffalo and whistled with delight.The four set to work, skinned him, and then began to cutoff the tenderest parts of the meat for drying. This wasa task that took them a long time, but fortunately thenight was clear, with a bright moon. Before theyfinished they heard the howling of wolves from distantpoints, and Phil occasionally caught slight glimpses ofslender dark forms on the plain, but he knew they wereprairie wolves that would not dare to attack, and he wenton with his work.

"They'll have a great feast here when we leave withwhat we want," said Bill Breakstone. "They're notinviting creatures, but I'm sorry for 'em sometimes, theyseem so eternally hungry."

After the task was finished, three went back for thehorses to carry their food supply, and Phil was left toguard it. He was tired now, and he sat down on theground with his rifle across his knee. The moon cameout more brightly, and he saw well across the prairie.The slender, shadowy forms there increased in numbers, and they whined with eagerness, but the boy did not havethe slightest fear. Nevertheless, he was glad they werenot the great timber wolves of the North. That wouldhave been another matter. At last he took a piece of thebuffalo that his comrades and he would not use and flungit as far as he could upon the prairie.

There was a rush of feet, a confused snarling andfighting, and then a long death howl. In the rush some wolfhad been bitten, and, at the sight of the blood, the othershad leaped upon him and devoured him.

Phil, who understood the sounds, shuddered. He hadnot meant to cause cannibalism, and he was glad whenhis comrades returned with the horses. They spent twodays jerking the buffalo meat, as best they could in thetime and under the conditions, and they soon found theprecaution one of great wisdom, as they did not see anymore game, and, on the second day afterward, entered aregion of sand. The buffalo grass disappeared entirely, and there was nothing to sustain life. This was genuinedesert, and it rolled before them in swells like the grassyprairie.

The four, after going a mile or so over the hot sand, stopped and regarded the gloomy waste with someapprehension. It seemed to stretch to infinity. They did notsee a single stalk or blade of vegetation, and the sandlooked so fine, or of such small grain, to Phil that hedismounted, picked up a handful of it, and threw it intothe air. The sand seemingly did not fall back, butdisappeared like white smoke. He tried it a second and athird time, with the same result in each case.

"It's not sand," he said, "it's just dust."

"Dust or sand," said Bill Breakstone, "we must rushour way through it, and I'm thinking that we've got tomake every drop of water we have in the bags last as longas possible."

They rode on for several hours, and the very softnessof the sand made the going the worst that they had everencountered. The feet of the horses sank deep in it, andthey began to pant with weariness, but there was norelief. The vertical sun blazed down with a fiery splendorthat Phil hitherto would have believed impossible. Thewhole earth shimmered in the red glare, and the raysseemed to penetrate. All of them had broad brimmedhats, and they protected their eyes as much as possible.The weariness of the horses became so great that afterawhile the riders dismounted and walked by the side ofthem. Two hours of this, and they stopped in order thatBreakstone might take the direction with a little compassthat he carried in a brass box about two inches indiameter. He had made the others buy the same kind, butthey had not yet used them.

"This is the best kind of compass to put in your baggageon such a trip as this," he said, "and it says thatwe re going straight on in the way we want to go. Comeboys, the more sand we pass the less we have in front of us."

They staggered bravely on, but the glare seemed togrow. The whole sky was like a hot, brassy cover thatheld them prisoners below. It scarcely seemed possibleto Phil that trees, green grass, and running water had everexisted anywhere. A light wind arose, but, unlike otherwinds that cool, this wind merely sent the heat againsttheir faces in streams and currents that were hotter thanever. It also whirled the fine sand over them in blindingshowers. Acting on the advice of Breakstone, they drewup their horses in a little circle, and stood in the centershielding their eyes with their hands. Peering over hishorse's back, Phil saw hills of sand four or five feet highpicked up and carried away, while hills equally high wereformed elsewhere. Ridges disappeared, and new ridgeswere formed. The wind blew for about two hours, andthen the four, covered with sand, resumed their marchnoting with joy that the sun was now sinking and the heatdecreasing. The very first shadows brought relief, butthe greatest solace was to the eye. Despite the protectionof hand and hat-brims, they were so burnt by the sandand glare that it was a pain to see. Yet the four were soweary of mind and body that they said nothing, as theytrudged on until the edge of the sun cut into the westernplain on the horizon. Phil had never before seen such asun. He had not believed it could be so big, so glaring, and so hot. He was so glad now that the earth wasrevolving away from it that he raised his clenched handand shook his fist in its very eye.

"Good-by to you," he exclaimed. "And I was neverbefore so glad to see you go!"

Phil spoke in such deadly earnest that Bill Breakstone, despite his aching muscles and burning throat, broke into laughter.