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

Black Panther, Santana, and a dozen warriors, somecarrying torches, rushed into the grove. They ran by theside of the medicine lodge until they came to the slit.There they stopped and examined it, pulling it openwidely. They noticed the powerful slash of the knifethat had cut through the tough buffalo hide four feet tothe ground. Then they knelt down and examined theground for traces of footsteps. But the rain, thebeneficent, intervening rain, had done its work. It had pusheddown the grass with gentle insistence and flooded theground until nothing was left from which the keenestComanche could derive a clue. They ran about like dogsin the brake, seeking the scent, but they found nothing.Warriors from the river had reported, also, that they sawnobody.

It was marvelous, incomprehensible, this suddenvanishing of the captive and his friend, and the two chiefswere troubled. They glanced up at the dark platforms ofthe dead and shivered a little. Perhaps the spirits ofthose who had passed were not favorable to them. It waswell that Okapa made medicine within to avert disasterfrom the tribe. But Black Panther and Santana werebrave men, else they would not have been great chiefs, and they still searched in this grove, which was more orless sacred, examining behind every tree, prowling amongthe bushes, and searching the grass again and again forfootsteps.

Phil lay flat upon his back, and those moments wereas vivid in his memory years afterward as if they werepassing again. Either elbow almost touched the shroudedform of some warrior who had lived intensely in histime. They did not inspire any terror in him now. Hisenemies alive, they had become, through no will of theirown, his protectors dead. He did not dare even to turnon his side for fear of making a noise that might beheard by the keen watchers below. He merely looked upat the heavens, which were somber, full of driftingclouds, and without stars or moon. The rain wasgradually soaking through his clothing, and now and thendrops struck him in the eyes, but he did not notice them.

He heard the Comanches walking about beneath him, and the guttural notes of their words that he did notunderstand, but he knew that neither he nor BillBreakstone could expect much mercy if they were found.After one escape they would be lucky if they met quickdeath and not torture at the hands of the Comanches.He saw now and then the reflection of the torch-lightshigh up on the walls of the medicine lodge, but generallyhe saw only the clouds and vapors above him.

Despite the voices and footsteps, Phil felt that theywould not be seen. No one would ever think of lookingin such places for him and Breakstone. But the waitwas terribly long, and the suspense was an acute physicalstrain. He felt his breath growing shorter, and thestrength seemed to depart from his arms and legs. Hewas glad that he was lying down, as it would have beenhard to stand upon one's feet and wait, helpless and insilence, while one's fate was being decided. There waseven a fear lest his breathing should turn to a gasp, andbe heard by those ruthless searchers, the Comanches.Then he fell to calculating how long it would be untildawn. The night could not last more than two or threehours longer, and if they were compelled to remain thereuntil day, the chance of being seen by the Comancheswould become tenfold greater.

He longed, also, to see or hear his comrade who laynot ten feet away, but he dared not try the lowest ofwhispers. If he turned a little on his side to see, themummy of some famous Comanche would shut out theview; so he remained perfectly still, which was the wisestthing to do, and waited through interminable time. Therain still dripped through the foliage, and by and by thewind rose, the rain increasing with it. The wet leavesmatted together, but above wind and rain came the soundfrom the medicine lodge, that ceaseless whistling andbeating of the dancers' feet. He wondered when it wouldstop. He did not know that Comanche warriors had beenknown to go around and around in their dance three daysand three nights, without stopping for a moment, andwithout food or water.

After a long silence without, he heard the Comanchesmoving again through the grove, and the reflection fromthe flare of a torch struck high on the wall of themedicine lodge. They had come back for a second search!He felt for a few moments a great apprehension lest theyinvade the platforms themselves, but this thought wasquickly succeeded by confidence in the invisibility ofBreakstone and himself, and the superstition of theIndians.

The tread of the Comanches and their occasional talkdied away, the lights disappeared from the creek bed, and the regions, outside the medicine lodge and the otherlodges, were left to the darkness and the rain. Phil feltdeep satisfaction, but he yet remained motionless andsilent. He longed to call to Breakstone, but he dreaded lesthe might do something rash. Bill Breakstone was olderthan he, and had spent many years in the wilderness.It was for him to act first. Phil, despite an overwhelmingdesire to move and to speak, held himself rigid andvoiceless. In a half hour came the soft, whisperingquestion:

"Phil, are you there?"

It was Breakstone from the next tree, and never wassound more welcome. He raised himself a little, anddrops of rain fell from his face.

"Yes, I'm here, Bill, but I'm mighty anxious tomove," he replied in the same low tone.

"I'm tired of having my home in a graveyard, too,"said Bill Breakstone, "though I'll own that for the timeand circumstances it was about the best home that couldbe found this wide world over. It won't be more thanan hour till day, Phil, and if we make the break at allwe must make it now."

"I'm with you," said Phil. "The sooner we start, the better it will please me."

"Better stretch yourself first about twenty times," saidBill Breakstone. "Lying so long in one position withthe rain coming down on top of you may stiffen you upquite a lot."

Phil obeyed, flexing himself thoroughly. He sat upand gently touched the mummy on either side of him.He had no awe, no fear of these dead warriors. Theyhad served him well. Then, swinging from a bough, hedropped lightly to the ground, and he heard the soft noiseof some one alighting near him. The form of BillBreakstone showed duskily.

"Back from the tombs," came the cheerful whisper."Phil, you're the greatest boy that ever was, and you'vedone a job that the oldest and boldest scout might envy.

 
"I was a captive,
The Indians had me;
Phil was adaptive,
Now they've lost me.
 

"I composed that rhyme while I was lying on thedeath platform up there. I certainly had plenty oftime-and now which way did you come, Phil?"

"Under the shelter of the creek bank. The woodsrun down to it, and it is high enough to hide a man."

"Then that is the way we will go, and we will notlinger in the going. Let the Comanches sing and danceif they will. They can enjoy themselves that way, butwe can enjoy ourselves more by running down the darkbed of a creek."

They slipped among the wet trees and bushes, andsilently lowered themselves down the bank into the sandof the creek bottom. There they took a parting look atthe medicine lodge. It showed through a rift in thetrees, huge and dark, and on either side of it the two sawfaint lights in the village. Above the soft swishing ofthe rain rose the steady whistling sound from the lodge, which had never been broken for a moment, not even bythe escape of the prisoner and the search.

"I was never before so glad to tell a place good-by,"whispered Bill Breakstone.

"It's time to go," said Phil. "I'll lead the way, asI've been over it once."

He walked swiftly along the sand, keeping well undercover of the bank, and Bill Breakstone was close behindhim. They heard the rain pattering on the surface of thewater, and both were wet through and through, but joythrilled in every vein of the two. Bill Breakstone hadescaped death and torture; Phil Bedford, a boy, hadrescued him in face of the impossible, and they certainlyhad full cause for rejoicing.

"How far down the creek bed do you think we oughtto go?" asked Breakstone.

"A quarter of a mile anyway," replied Phil, "andthen we can cut across the plain and enter the forest."

Everything had been so distinct and vivid that heremembered the very place at which he had dropped downinto the creek bed, when he approached the medicinelodge, and when he came to it again, he said: "Here weare," springing up at one bound. Breakstone promptlyfollowed him. Then a figure appeared in the duskimmediately in front of Phil, the figure of a tall man, nakedsave the breech cloth, a great crown of brightly coloredfeathers upon his head. It was a Comanche warrior, probably the last of those returning from the fruitlesssearch for the captive.

The Comanche uttered the whoop of alarm, and Phil, acting solely on impulse, struck madly with the butt ofhis rifle. But he struck true. The fierce cry wassuddenly cut short. The boy, with a shuddering effect, feltsomething crush beneath his rifle stock. Then he andBill Breakstone leaped over the fallen body and ran withall their might across the plain toward the woods.

"It was well that you hit so quick and hard," breathedBreakstone, "but his single yell has alarmed the warriors.Look back, they are getting ready to pursue."

Phil cast one hurried glance over his shoulder. Hesaw lights twinkling among the Comanche lodges, andthen he heard a long, deep, full-throated cry, uttered byperhaps a hundred throats.

"Hark to them!" exclaimed Breakstone. "Theyknow the direction from which that cry came, and you andI, Phil, will have to make tracks faster than we ever didbefore in our lives."

"At any rate, we've got a good start," said Phil.

They ran with all speed toward the woods, but behindthem and in other directions they heard presently the beatof hoofs, and both felt a thrill of alarm.

"They are on their ponies, and they are galloping allover the plain," said Bill Breakstone. "Some of themare bound to find us, but you've the rifle, and I've thepistol!"

They ran with all their might, but from two or threepoints the ominous beat of hoofs came closer. They weredevoutly glad now of the rain and the shadowed moonthat hid them from all eyes except those very near. BothPhil and Breakstone stumbled at intervals, but theywould recover quickly, and continue at undiminished, speed for the woods, which were now showing in a blackerline against the black sky.

There was a sudden swift beat of hoofs, and twowarriors galloped almost upon them. Both the warriorsuttered shouts at sight of the fugitives, and fired. Butin the darkness and hurry they missed. Breakstone firedin return, and one of the Indians fell from his pony.Phil was about to fire at the other, but the Comanchemade his pony circle so rapidly that in the faint light hecould not get any kind of aim. Then he saw somethingdark shoot out from the warrior's hand and uncoil in theair. A black, snakelike loop fell over Bill Breakstone'shead, settled down on his shoulders, and was suddenlydrawn taut, as the mustang settled back on his haunches.Bill Breakstone, caught in the lasso, was thrown to theground by the violent jerk, but with the stopping of thehorse came Phil's chance. He fired promptly, and theComanche fell from the saddle. The frightened mustangran away, just as Breakstone staggered dizzily to his feet.Phil seized him by the arm.

"Come, Bill, come!" he cried. "The woods are notthirty yards away!"

"Once more unto the breach, or rather the woods!"exclaimed the half-unconscious man. "Lead on, PrinceHal, and I follow! That's mixed, but I mean well!"

They ran for the protecting woods, Breakstone halfsupported by Phil, and behind them they now heard manycries and the tread of many hoofs. A long, black, snake-like object followed Bill Breakstone, trailing through thegrass and weeds. They had gone half way before Philnoticed it. Then he snatched out his knife and severedthe lasso. It fell quivering, as if it were a live thing, and lay in a wavy line across the grass. But thefugitives were now at the edge of the woods, and BillBreakstone's senses came back to him in full.

"Well done again, Sir Philip of the Knife and theReady Mind," he whispered. "I now owe two lives toyou. I suppose that if I were a cat I would in the endowe you nine. But suppose we turn off here at anangle to the right, and then farther on we'll takeanother angle. I think we're saved. They can't followus on horses in these dense woods, and in all thisdarkness."

They stepped lightly now, but drew their breaths indeep gasps, their hearts throbbing painfully, and theblood pounding in their ears. But they thanked Godagain for the clouds and the moonless, starless sky. Itcould not be long until day, but it would be long enoughto save them.

They went nearly a quarter of a mile to the right, andthen they took another angle, all the while bearing deeperinto the hills. From time to time they heard the warcries of the Comanches coming from different points, evidently signals to one another, but there was no soundof footsteps near them.

"Let's stop and rest a little," said Bill Breakstone."These woods are so thick and there is so muchundergrowth that they cannot penetrate here with horses, and,as they know that at least one of us is armed, they willbe a little wary about coming here on foot. They knowwe'd fight like tigers to save ourselves. 'Thrice armedis he who hath his quarrel just,' and if a man who istrying to save his life hasn't got a just quarrel, I don'tknow who has. Here's a good place."

They had come to a great oak which grew by the sideof a rock projecting from a hill. The rain had beengentle, and the little alcove, formed by the rock above andthe great trunk of the tree on one side, was sheltered anddry. Moreover, it contained many dead leaves of thepreceding autumn, which had been caught there whenwhirled before the winds. It was large enough for two, and they crept into it, not uttering but feeling deepthanks.

CHAPTER VII
THE GREAT SLEEP

When Phil drew the warm leaves about him hefelt a mighty sensation of relief, accompaniedby a complete mental and physical relaxation.The supreme tension of the spirit that had borne him upso long was gone now, when it was needed no longer, andhe uttered a deep sigh of content. Bill Breakstone put ahand upon his shoulder.

"Phil," he said simply, "I owe you so much that Ican't ever repay it."

"Your chance will come," replied the boy. "You'llprobably do more for me than I've ever done for you."

"We'll see," said Bill Breakstone. "I'm thinking,Phil, that this is about the best hiding place we couldhave found, so we'll just lie quiet, as we'll see the edgeof the day inside of half an hour."

The two remained perfectly still. Yet they couldhear for awhile their own strained breathing, and Philfelt his heart constrict painfully after his long flight.But the breathing of both grew easier. In a short whileit was normal again. Then they saw a touch of gray inthe east, the rain ceased like a dissolving mist, a silverlight fell over the forest, turning presently to gold, and itwas day in the east.

Some of the sunbeams entered the thick jungle offorest where they lay, touching the leaves and grass hereand there with gold, but in most places the shadows stillhovered. Phil and Breakstone looked at their surroundings.They had left no trail in coming there, and thebushes about them were so dense that even Indian eyesten feet away could not have seen them.

The sunlight was deepening. Birds in the trees beganto sing. All the beings of the wilderness, little and big, awoke to life. Trees and grass dried swiftly under thestrong fresh wind. Bill Breakstone glanced at hisyouthful comrade.

"Phil," he said, "I'll take the rifle, and you go tosleep. You've had a harder time than I have, and, whenyou wake up, I'll tell you how I was captured."

"I think I'll do it, Bill," said the boy, putting his.arm under his head and closing his eyes. The strain wasgone from his nerves now, and sleep came readily. Inthree minutes he was oblivious of Comanches and all elsethat the world contained. Bill Breakstone could haveslept if he had tried, but he did not try. Under amanner nearly always light and apparently superficial heconcealed a strong nature and much depth of feeling. Itseemed to him that at the last moment a hand had beenstretched out to save him from the worst of fates. Itseemed to him, also, that it must have been a sort ofinspiration, the direction of a supreme will, for Phil tohave come to him at such a time. It was a brave deed,a wonderful deed, and it had been brilliantly successful.

The light was strong, and Bill Breakstone lookeddown at the boy who was a younger brother to him now.He saw that the strain upon Phil had been great. Evenwhile he slept his face was very white, except wherefatigue and suspense had painted it black beneath theeyes. Phil Bedford had done more than his share, andit was now for him, Bill Breakstone, to do the rest. Heslipped the muzzle of the rifle forward in order that itmight command the mouth of the hollow, and waited.He would have pulled more leaves and brush before theentrance, but he knew that any disturbance of naturewould attract the eye of a passing Comanche, and heallowed everything to remain exactly as it had been.

He lay comfortably among the leaves, and for a longtime he did not stir. Phil breathed regularly and easily, and Bill saw that he would be fully restored when heawoke. Bill himself thought neither of hunger nor thirst, the tension was too great for that, but he never ceased towatch the sweep of trees and brush. It was half waytoward noon when he saw some bushes about ten yardsin front of him trembling slightly. He became at oncealert and suspicious. He drew himself up in the attitudeof one who is ready for instant action, slipping the muzzleof the rifle a little farther forward.

The bushes moved again, and something came intoview. Bill Breakstone sank back, and his apprehensiondeparted. It was a timber wolf, gray and long. Adangerous enough beast, if a man alone and unarmed met agroup of them, but Bill, with the rifle, had no fear.The wolf sniffed the odor of flesh, sniffed again, knewthat it was the odor of human flesh, and his blood becameafraid within him. Bill Breakstone laughed quietly, butthe boy slept placidly on. The incident amused Bill, and, therefore, it was welcome. It broke the monotonyof the long quiet, and, just when he was laughingnoiselessly for the fourth time over the wolf's discomfiture, the bushes moved again. Bill, as before, slipped themuzzle of his rifle farther forward and waited. A slightpungent odor came to his nostrils. The bushes movedmore than before, although without noise, and a greatyellow body came into view. The eyes were green, theclaws sharp and long, and the body lithe and powerful.It was a splendid specimen of the southwestern puma, agreat cat that could pull down a deer. But Bill Breakstonewas still unafraid. He raised the rifle and aimedit at the puma, although he did not press the trigger.

"I can kill you, my friend, with a single bullet," hemurmured, "but the report of that rifle would probablybring the Comanches upon us. Therefore, I will lookyou down."

The puma paused in doubt and indecision, restlesslymoving his tail, and staring with his great green eyes untilthey met the gray eyes of the human creature, lookingdown the sights of the rifle barrel. That steady, steel-like gaze troubled the puma. He was large andpowerful. He could have struck down the man at a singleblow, but the heart within that mass of bone and musclebecame afraid. The green eyes looked fearfully into thegray ones, and at last turned aside. The great beastturned stealthily, and slid into the thicket, at first slowly, and then in a run, as the terror that he could not seecrowded upon his heels.

Bill Breakstone had laughed several times that morning, but now he laughed with a deep unction.

"I'm proud of myself," he murmured. "It's somethingto outlook a panther, but I don't know that I'dhave looked so straight and hard if I hadn't had the rifleready, in case the eyes failed. Now I wonder who orwhat will be the next invader of our premises."

His wonder lasted only until noon, when the sun waspoised directly overhead, and the open spaces were full ofits rays. Then, as light as the beasts themselves hadbeen, two Comanches walked into full view. BillBreakstone was as still as ever, but his hand lay upon thetrigger of the rifle.

The Comanches were not a pleasant sight to eyes thatdid not wish to see them. They were powerful men, naked save for the waist cloth, their bodies painted withmany strange symbols and figures. Although most oftheir tribe were yet armed with bows and arrows, eachcarried a fine rifle. Their faces were wary, cunning, and cruel. They were far more to be dreaded than wolfor panther. Yet Bill Breakstone at that moment felt butlittle fear of either. He was upheld by a great stimulus.The boy who slept so peacefully by his side had savedhim in the face of everything, and, if the time had come,he would do as much for Phil. He felt himself, with therifle and pistol, a match for both warriors, and hisbreathing was steady and regular.

The warriors stopped and stood in the bush, talkingand pointing toward the east. Bill Breakstone surmisedthat they were talking about him and Phil, and it waslikely from their pointing fingers that they believed thefugitives had gone toward the east. As Bill watchedthem, his suspense was mingled with a sort of curiosity.Would some instinct warn them that Phil and he lay notten yards away? The woods were vast, and they and alltheir comrades could not search every spot. Would thisbe one of the spots over which they must pass?

It took two minutes to decide the question, and thenthe warriors walked on toward the east, their brownbodies disappearing in the foliage. Bill drew a mightybreath that came from every crevice and cranny of hislungs. He did not know until then how great hissuspense had been. He sank back a little and let the riflerest softly on the leaves beside him. He glanced atPhil. His face was less drawn now, and much of thecolor had come back. While Bill awaited the crisis, hisfinger on the trigger, the sleeping boy had grown stronger.Bill decided that he would let him sleep on.

Bill Breakstone had been through much. He, too, began to feel sleepy. The dangers of animal and manhad come and passed, leaving his comrade and himuntouched. His nerves were now subdued and relaxed, and he felt a great physical and mental peace. The day, too, was one calculated to soothe. The air was filled with; the mildness of early spring. A gentle wind blew, and theboughs and bushes rustled together, forming a sound thatwas strangely like a song of peace.

But Bill Breakstone was a man watchful, alert, asentinel full of strength and resolution. He would notsleep, no, not he, not while so much depended upon him, yet the song among the leaves was growing sweeter andgentler all the time. He had never felt such a soothingquiet in all his life. The complete relaxation after somuch danger and tension was at hand, and it was hardfor one to watch the forest and be troubled about foeswho would no longer come. Yet he would remain awakeand keep faithful guard, and, as he murmured hisresolution for the fifth time, his drooping eyelids shut downentirely, and he slept as soundly as the boy who lay byhis side, his chest rising and falling as he breathed longand regularly.

Phil Bedford and Bill Breakstone slept all that afternoon.It was a mighty sleep, the great sleep followingcomplete mental and physical exhaustion, the sleep thatcomes at such times to strong, healthy beings, in whomthe co-ordination of brain, muscle, and nerve is complete.By some unconscious method of keeping time theybreathed in perfect unison, and the gentle wind, whichall the while was blowing through the leaves, kept timewith them, too. Thus the evening shortened. Hour byhour dropped into the sandglass of time. The two, rivals of the ancient seven of famous memory, slept on.Both the wolf and the puma, driven by curiosity, cameback. They crept a little nearer than before, but not toonear. They felt instinctively that the mighty sleepers, mightily as they slept, could yet be awakened, and thesmell of man contained a quality that was terrifying. Sothey went away, and, an hour after they were gone, thesame two Comanches, naked to the waist, paintedhideously in many symbols and decorations, and savage andcruel of countenance, came back in their places. ButBill Breakstone and Phil lay safe in the leaves under thebank, sleeping peacefully without dreams. So far as theComanches were concerned, they were a thousand milesaway, and presently the two warriors disappeared againin the depths of the forest, this time not to return.

Time went on. The two slept the great sleep soquietly that all the normal life of the woods about themwas resumed. Woodpeckers drummed upon the sides ofthe hollow trees, a red bird in a flash of flame shot amongthe boughs, quail scuttled in the grass, and a rabbithopped near. Midafternoon of a cloudless day came.The sun shot down its most brilliant beams, the wholeforest was luminous with light. The Comanches ceasedtheir search, confident that the fugitives were gone nowbeyond their overtaking, and returned to their villagesand other enterprises, but Breakstone and Phil slept theirgreat sleep.

Twilight came, and they were still sleeping. Neitherhad stirred an inch from his place. The little animalsthat hopped about in the thickets believed them dead, they were so quiet, and came nearer. Night came on, thick and dark. An owl in a tree hooted mournfully, and an owl in another tree a half mile away hooted amournful answer. Phil and his comrade did not hear, because they still lay in their great sleep, and the doingsof the world, great or small, did not concern them.

Phil awoke first. It was then about midnight, and sodark in the alcove that he could not see. His eyes stillheavy with sleep and his senses confused, he sat up. Heshook his head once or twice, and recollection began tocome back. Surely the daylight had come when he wentto sleep! And where was Bill Breakstone? He heard aregular breathing, and, reaching out his hands, touchedthe figure of his comrade. Both had slept, and no harmhad come to them. That was evident because he alsotouched the rifle and pistol, and they would have beenthe first objects taken by a creeping enemy. But surelyit could not have been a dream about his going to sleep inthe daylight! He remembered very well that the sun wasrising and that there were golden beams on the bushes.Now it was so dark that he could see only a few faintstars in the sky, and the bashful rim of a moon. He satup and gave Bill Breakstone a vigorous shake.

"Bill," he said, "wake up! It's night, but whatnight I don't know!"

Bill Breakstone yawned tremendously, stretchedhimself as much as the narrow space would allow, and thenslowly and with dignity sat up. He, too, was somewhatconfused, but he pretended wisdom while he was tryingto collect his senses. The two could barely see eachother, and each felt rather than saw the wonder in theother's eyes.

"Well," said Bill Breakstone at last, "I'd have youto know, Sir Philip of the Dream and the Snore, thoughI can't prove that you've done either any more than I canprove that I haven't done both, that we're the genuineand true Babes in the Wood, only we've waked up. Herewe've been asleep, maybe a week, maybe a month, andthe pitying little birds have come and covered us up withleaves, and we've been warm and snug, and the wildanimals haven't eaten us up, and the bad men, that is tosay the Comanches, haven't found us. How do you feel,Phil?"

"Fine, never better in my life."

"That describes me, also, with beautiful accuracy.We'll never know, maybe, how long we've slept, whetherone day, two days, or three days, but a good spirit hasbeen watching over us; of that I'm sure.

 
"Phil and Bill,
To sleep they went;
Phil and Bill
From sleep they came.
Phil and Bill,
They had no tent;
But Phil and Bill,
They are true game.
Phil and Bill,
The leaves, a bed,
Phil and Bill,
They took no ill.
That's Phil and Bill.
 

"I don't think that's a bad poem, Phil, consideringthe short time I've had for its composition, and you'llobserve that, with a modesty not common among poets,I've put you first."

"It's all right for the time," said Phil, "but don't doit too often. But, Bill, I'd trade a whole slab of poetryfor an equal weight in beef or venison. I'm beginningto feel terribly hungry."

"I'd make the trade, too," said Bill Breakstone, "andthat's not holding poetry so cheap, either. It's pleasantfor the Babes in the Wood to wake up again, but there'sa disadvantage; you've got to eat, and to eat you've gotto find something that can be eaten. I'm like KingRichard, 'A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!' ButI wouldn't ride that horse; I'd eat him."

"What time o' night would you say it is, Bill?"

Bill Breakstone attentively studied the few stars to beseen in the extremely dusky heavens.

"I'd say it was somewhere between six o'clock in theevening and six o'clock in the morning, with theemphasis on the 'somewhere.' I wonder what's happenedaround in these woods since we went to sleep last week,Phil; but I suppose we'll never know."

Bill stood up, and with his fingers combed the leavesout of his hair.

"Phil," he said, "I'll tell you the story of my lifefor the last day or two. It doesn't make a longnarrative, but while it was happening it was tremendouslymoving to me. When I left you I skipped along throughthe edge of the woods and came to the plain. Then Isaw the Indian village and the Indian horses grazing onthe meadows. I looked them over pretty thoroughly, concluded I didn't like 'em, and started back to tell youabout 'em. I thought I was mighty smart, but I wasn'tsmart enough by half."

"What happened?"

"Just as I turned around to start upon my worthymission, three large, unclothed Comanches laid rudehands upon me. I didn't have much chance, one againstthree, and surprise on their side, too. They soon had meby the neck and heels, and carried me off to their village, where they gave me the welcome due to a distinguishedstranger. Black Panther was especially effusive. Hewanted to know all about me and my friends, if any, perchance, were near by. It was the same band that hadattacked our wagon train and that was beaten off. Theirscouts had warned them that we were on the other sideof the big forest, but they were afraid to attack again.I gathered from what Black Panther said-he understandsEnglish, and I understand some Comanche-that theybelieved me to be lost, strayed, or stolen-that is, I hadwandered away in some manner, or had been left behind.The chief tried to get all sorts of information out of me, but I didn't have any to tell. Finding that I was borndumb, he began to talk about punishments."