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

"What were they going to do to you, Bill?"

"There was a lot of lurid talk. I say 'lurid' becauseI seem to remember something about flames. Anyway,it was to be unpleasant, and I suppose if you hadn'tcome, Phil, at the right time, I shouldn't ever have hadthe great sleep that I've enjoyed so much, at least notthat particular kind of sleep. Phil, it looks to me as ifyou came when I called, and I'm not joking, either."

"We'll put that aside," said Phil, "and hunt somethingto eat."

"Yes, it's our first duty to provision this army oftwo," said Bill Breakstone, "and I think we can do it.The woods are full of game, but we'll have to wait tillmorning for a shot. As for the Indians hearing thereports of our rifles, we must take the chance of that, butI don't think they'll roam very far from the village, andwe'll spend the rest of the night going toward the pointwhere we left the wagon train, which is directly awayfrom the Comanches. Toward morning we'll sit down bythe bank of a stream if we can find one, and wait for thegame to come to drink."

"That seems to me to be our best plan," said Phil.

Both had a good idea of direction, and, despite thedarkness, they advanced in a fairly straight line towardthe point they sought. But they found it rough travelingthrough the thick undergrowth, among briers and acrossravines and gulleys. Meanwhile, old King Hunger, bristling and fearsome, seized them and rent them withhis fangs. There was no resisting. They must evensuffer and stand it as best they could.

"I think it's at least a thousand hours until day,"said Bill Breakstone at last. "Do you know, Phil, I'vegot to the point where I'd enjoy one of those stagebanquets that I've often had. You don't really eatanything. The plates are empty, the glasses are empty, and, empty as they all are, they're generally whisked awaybefore you can get a good long look at them. But there'ssomething soothing and filling about them anyway.Maybe it's an illusion, but if an illusion is of the rightkind, it's just the right kind of thing that you ought tohave."

"An illusion may be all right for you, Bill," returnedPhil, "but what about some of those dinners you can getin New Orleans. Oyster soup, Bill; fish fresh from thegulf, Bill; nice old Virginia ham, Bill; stuffed Louisiana: turkey, Bill; a haunch of venison, Bill; fried chicken,Bill; lamb chops, Bill; and a lot of other things thatmoney can buy in New Orleans, Bill?"

"If you weren't my best friend, Phil, and if youhadn't just saved my life, I might make an attack uponyou with the intent of bodily harm. You surely makeme sour with your talk about the whole provision trainthat can be bought in New Orleans with money. Hearthat old owl hooting! He's just laughing at us. I'dstop and shoot him if we had light enough for a shot."

"Never mind the owl, Bill," said Phil. "Perhapswhen we get that good juicy deer we're looking for we canhoot back at him, if we feel like it."

"That's so," said Bill, although he said it gloomily.

They advanced in silence another hour, and then Phil, who was a little in advance, stopped suddenly. He hadseen the gleam of water, and he pointed it out to hiscomrade.

"A spring," said Bill Breakstone, "and it's beentrampled around the edges by many hoofs and paws."

He stooped and tasted the water. Then he uttered amighty sigh of satisfaction.

"A salt spring, too," he said. "We're in luck, Phil.I see our breakfast coming straight toward us at thisspring, walking briskly on four legs. The wild animalsalways haunt such places, and if we don't have savorysteaks before the sun is an hour high, then I'm willing tostarve to death. We must find an ambush. Here it is!Luck's a funny thing, Phil. It goes right against youfor awhile, and nothing seems able to break it. Then itturns right around and favors you, and no fool thing thatyou do seems to change it. But I guess it evens up inthe long run."

They found a dense clump of bushes about twentyyards from the salt spring, and sat down among them.

"There's no wind at all," whispered Bill Breakstone,"so I don't think that any animal eager for his salt drinkwill notice us. I've got my heart set on deer, Phil, anddeer we must have. Now which of us shall take the rifleand make the shot? The rifle is yours, you know, andyou have first choice."

But Phil insisted upon the older and more experiencedman taking the weapon, and Breakstone consented.Then they lay quiet, eagerly watching every side of thespring. The darkness soon thinned away, and the bushesand trees became luminous in the early morning light.

"Something will come soon," said Breakstone.

They waited a little longer, and then they heard arustling among the bushes on the far side of the spring.The bushes moved, and a black-tailed deer, a splendidbuck, stepped into the opening. He paused to sniff theair, but nothing strange or hostile came to his nostrils.The deadly figure, crouching in the bushes with theloaded rifle at his cheek, might have been a thousandmiles away, for all the deer knew.

Phil and Bill Breakstone might have admired the deerat another time, but now other emotions urged them on.The deer stepped down to the water. Breakstone lookeddown the sights, and Phil trembled lest he should miss.He tried to look along the barrel himself and see whatspot Bill had picked out on the animal's body. Then hewatched the marksman's finger curl around the triggerand at last press hard upon it. The flash of flame leapedforth, the report sounded startlingly loud in the clearmorning, and the deer jumped high in the air.

But when the big buck came down he ran into theforest as if he had not been touched. Phil uttered a gaspof despair, but Bill Breakstone only laughed.

"Don't you fret, Phil," he said. "My heart was inmy mouth, but my bullet didn't miss. He's hit hard, and we've got nothing to do but follow him by the plaintrail he'll leave. We'll come to our breakfast in less thanten minutes."

Phil soon saw that Breakstone was right. The trailon the other side of the salt spring was plain and red, andpresently they found the great stag in a thicket, lyingupon his side, stone dead, Bill Breakstone was an adeptat cleaning and dressing, and soon the ugly work wasover. They always carried matches, and Phil quicklylighted a fire of dry sticks that burned up rapidly andthat soon made a fine heap of glowing coals.

"Now," said Breakstone, "we'll cook and eat, then we'llcook and eat again, then we'll cook and eat once more."

"And I don't care very much whether Comanchesheard the rifle shot or not," said Phil. "It seems to methat when I eat as much as I want I can whip the wholeComanche nation."

"I feel that way, too," said Bill Breakstone, "but theComanches didn't hear. I know it in my bones. Didn'tI tell you about that streak of luck? Luck's coming ourway now, and the streak will last for awhile."

They cut long twigs, sharpened them at the ends, andfried over the coals strips of the deer, which gave outsuch a rich aroma as they sputtered that the two couldscarcely restrain themselves. Yet they did it, theyremained white men and gentlemen, and did not guzzle.

"Phil," said Bill, before he took a single bite, "Iremember about that dinner in New Orleans you weretalking of so long ago. I remember about those beautifuloysters, those splendid fish from the gulf, the gorgeousVirginia ham, the magnificent Louisiana turkey; yes, Iremember all those magnificent fripperies andfrummeries, but it seems to me if they were all set downbefore us, spread on a service of golden plate, theywouldn't be finer than what is now awaiting us."

"Bill," said Phil with deep emphasis and unction,"you never spoke truer words in your life."

"Then lay on, Macduff, and the first who cries 'hold, enough'-well, he won't be much of a trencherman."

They fell to. They did not eat greedily, but they atelong and perseveringly. Strip after strip was fried overthe coals, gave out its savory odor, and disappeared.Phil occasionally replenished the fire, adding to the bedof coals, but keeping down the smoke. Bill, stretchinghis long body on the ground and then propping himselfup on his elbow, concluded that it was a beautiful world.

"Didn't I tell you our luck would hold for awhile?"he repeated. "Since we got into the woods, things havecome easy. A good bed put itself right in our way, thena deer walked up and asked to be eaten.

 
"The deer
It was here.
One shot-
In our pot.
 

"We haven't any pot, but you can use things in ametaphorical sense in order to get your rhyme. That'swhat poetry is for."

"I'm beginning to feel satiated," said Phil.

"'Satiated' is a good word," said Bill Breakstone,"but it isn't used much on the plains. Still, I'mbeginning to feel that way myself, too, and I think we'dbetter begin to consider the future, which is always so muchbigger than the present."

"We must find our horses."

"Of course, and after that we must find the train, which will be our chief problem. It may be where weleft it or it may have gone on, thinking that we had beenkilled by some outlying party of Comanches. But I don'tbelieve Middleton and Arenberg would move without us.They may now be somewhere in these woods lookingfor us."

"Can you figure out the direction of the valley inwhich we left our horses?"

Breakstone studied the sun attentively.

"It's southeast from here," he replied, "and I fancyit's not more than three or four miles. Two likely lads likeyou and me ought to find it pretty soon, and, nine chancesout of ten, the horses will be there. We'll take some ofthe best portions of the deer with us, and start at once."

They chose the choicest pieces of the meat and started, now strong of body and light of heart. Phil's ownjudgment about the direction agreed with Breakstone's, andin less than an hour they saw familiar ground.

"I'm a good prophet to-day," said Breakstone. "I'vegot the gift for a few hours at least. I predicted trulyabout the deer, and now I am going to predict trulyabout the horses. We'll have them by the bridle insideof half an hour."

In fifteen minutes they were in the little valley, inthree minutes they found the horses grazing peacefully, and in two more minutes they caught them.

"We've done the work and with ten minutes tospare," said Bill Breakstone, triumphantly, "and now,Phil, another wonderful change in our fortunes has come.If a camel is the ship of the desert, then a horse is theboat of the plains, the long boat, the jolly boat, the rowboat, and all the rest of them. Now for the wagontrain!"

"Now for the wagon train!" repeated Phil.

CHAPTER VIII
NEW ENEMIES

The two were in splendid spirits. They had escapedgreat dangers, and they were on horseback oncemore. It is true, they were somewhat short onarmament, but Breakstone took Phil's pistol, while thelatter kept the rifle, and they were confident that theycould find game enough on the plains until they overtookthe wagon train. The horses themselves seemed glad ofthe companionship of their old masters, and wentforward readily and at an easy pace through the woods.They soon found the path by which they had come, andfollowed it until they crossed the river and reached thesite of the camp. But the trail toward the plain laybefore them broad and easy.

"They can't have gone long," said Breakstone."They may have thought that we were merely loiteringbehind for some purpose of our own and would soonovertake them. A whole train isn't going to linger about fortwo fellows well mounted and well armed who aresupposed to know how to take care of themselves. But, SirPhilip of the Youthful Countenance, I don't think thatMiddleton and Arenberg would go ahead without us."

"Neither do I," said Phil with emphasis. "I as goodas know that they're looking for us in these woods, andwe've got to stay behind and find them, taking the riskof Comanches."

"Wherein I do heartily agree with you, and I'm goingto take a chance right now. It is likely that the two, after fruitless searches for us, would return here atintervals, and, in a region like this, the sound of a shot willtravel far. Fire the rifle, Phil, and it may bring them.It's often used as a signal. If it brings the Comanchesinstead, we're on our horses, and they're strong andswift."

Phil fired a shot, but there was no response. Hewaited half an hour and fired a second time, with thesame result. After another half hour, the third shot wasfired, and, four or five minutes later, Breakstoneannounced that he heard the tread of hoofs. It was a faint, distant sound, but Phil, too, heard it, and he wasconfident that it was made by hoofs. The two looked at eachother, and each read the question in the other's eye.Who were coming in reply to the call of that third rifleshot, red men or white?

"We'll just draw back a little behind this clump ofbushes," said Breakstone. "We can see a long waythrough their tops, and not be seen until the riders comevery close. Then, if the visitors to this Forest of Ardenof 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 grewlouder. It was certain, moreover, that the riders werecoming straight toward the point at which the rifle hadbeen fired.

"Judging from the hoof beats, how many would yousay 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 growinglouder. Phil rose in his stirrups and gained a furtherview. He saw the top of a soft hat and then the top ofanother. In a half minute the faces beneath came intoview. He knew them both, and he uttered a cry of joy.

"Middleton and Arenberg!" he exclaimed. "Herethey come!"

"Our luck still holds good," said Bill Breakstone.He and Phil galloped from behind the bushes andshouted as warm a welcome as men ever had. Theyreceived one equally warm in return, as Middleton and theGerman urged their horses forward. Then there was amighty shaking of hands and mutual congratulations.

"The train left yesterday morning," said Middleton,"but we couldn't give you up. We scouted all the wayacross the forest and saw the Comanches on the otherside. There was nothing to indicate anything unusualamong them, such as a sacrifice of prisoners, and wehoped that if you had been taken by them you hadescaped, and we came back here to see, knowing that if youwere able you would return to this place. We were rightin one part of our guess, because here you are."

"And mighty glad we are to be here," said BillBreakstone, "and I want to say to you that I, BillBreakstone, who may not be of so much importance to theworld, but who is of vast importance to himself, wouldnot be here at all, or anywhere else, for that matter, if itwere not for this valiant and skillful youth, Sir PhilipBedford, Knight of the Texas plains."

"Stop, Bill," exclaimed Phil blushing. "Don'ttalk that way."

"Talk that way! Of course I will! And I'll pile itup, too! And after I pile it up and keep on piling it up,it won't be the whole truth. Cap, and you, Hans, oldfellow, Phil and I were not taken together, because Philwas never taken at all. It was I alone who sat still, shutmy eyes, and closed my ears while I let three of theugliest Comanche warriors that were ever born walk up, layviolent hands on me, harness me up in all sorts of thongsand withes, and carry me off to their village, where theywould have had some red sport with me if Phil hadn'tcome, when they were all mad with a great dance, andtaken me away."

Then he told the story in detail, and Phil, shy andblushing, was compelled to receive their compliments, which were many and sincere. But he insisted that hemerely succeeded through good luck, which BillBreakstone warmly denied.

"Well, between the two of you, you have certainlygot out of it well," said Middleton, "and, as we arereunited, we must plan for the next step. We can easilyovertake the train by to-morrow, but I'm of the opinionthat we'll have to be very careful, and that we must dosome scouting, also. Arenberg and I have discoveredthat the Comanche warriors are on the move again. Theirwhole force of warriors seemed to be getting ready to leavethe village, and they may be planning, after all, a secondattack upon the train, a night surprise, or something ofthat kind. We, too, will have to be careful lest we runinto them."

"Then it maybe for the good of the train that wewere left back here," said Phil, "because we will returnwith a warning."

"It may be the hand of Providence," said Arenberg,"since the Comanches did no harm where much wasintended."

As both Middleton and Arenberg were firmly convincedthat the plain would be thick with Comanche scouts, making their passage by daylight impossible, or at leastextremely hazardous, they decided to remain in the woodsuntil nightfall. They rode a couple of miles from thecamp, tethered their horses in thick bushes, and, sittingnear them, waited placidly. Phil Breakstone, andArenberg talked in low tones, but Middleton sat silent. Philnoticed presently that "The Cap" was preoccupied. Littlelines of thought ran down from his eyes to the cornersof his nose.

Phil began to wonder again about the nature ofMiddleton's mission. Every one of the four was engagedupon some great quest, and none of them knew the secretof any of the others. Nor, in the rush of events, hadthey been left much time to think about such matters.

Now Phil again studied Middleton more closely.There was something in the unaccustomed lines of hisface and his thoughtful eye indicating a belief that forhim, at least, the object of the quest might be drawingnigh. At least, it seemed so to the boy. He studied, too, Middleton's clean cut face, and the sharp line of hisstrong chin. Phil had noticed before that this man wasuncommonly neat in his personal appearance. It was aneatness altogether beyond what one usually saw on theplains. His clothing was always clean and in order, hecarried a razor, and he shaved every day. Nor did heever walk with a slovenly, lounging gait.

Phil decided that something very uncommon musthave sent him with the Santa Fé train, but he would notask; he had far too much delicacy to pry into the secretof another, who did not pry into his own.

Middleton and Arenberg had ample food in theirsaddlebags and Phil and Breakstone combined with it theirstock of deer meat. Nothing disturbed them in thethicket, and at nightfall they mounted and rode out intothe plain.

"I know something about this country before us,"said Breakstone. "It runs on in rolling swells for amarch of many days, without any streams except shallowcreeks, and without any timber except the fringes ofcottonwoods along these creeks."

"And I know which way to go in order to overtakethe train," said Middleton. "Woodfall said that theywould head straight west, and we are certainly goodenough plainsmen to keep our noses pointed that way."

"We are, we surely are," said Bill Breakstone, "butwe must keep a good watch for those Comanche scouts.They hide behind the swells on their ponies, and theyblend so well with the dusky earth that you'd nevernotice 'em until they had passed the signal on to othersthat you were coming and that it was a good time toform an ambush."

There was a fair sky, with a moon and some clearstars, and they could see several hundred yards, butbeyond that the whole horizon fused into a dusky wall.They rode at a long, swinging pace, and the hoofs of theirhorses made little noise on the new spring turf. Thewind of the plains, which seldom ceases, blew gently intheir 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 thathe could defy anything. He felt, too, and perhaps thefeeling was due to his physical well-being and recoveredsafety, that he, also, was coming nearer to the object ofhis quest. Involuntarily he put his left hand on hiscoat, where the paper which he had read so often laysecurely in a little inside pocket. He knew every word ofit by heart, but when the time came, and he was alone,he would take it out and read it again. It was this paperthat was always calling to him.

They rode on, crossing swell after swell, and, after thefirst hour, the four did not talk. It was likely that everyone was thinking of his own secret.

They came about midnight to a prairie creek, a streamof water two or three yards wide and a few inches deep, flowing in a bed of sand perhaps fifteen yards across. Athin fringe of low cottonwoods and some willows grew oneither shore. They approached warily, knowing that sucha place offered a good ambush, and realizing that fourwould not have much chance against a large Comanchewar band.

"But I don't think there is much danger," said BillBreakstone. "If the Comanches are up to mischief again, they're not looking for stray parties; their mind is on thetrain, and, by the way, the train has passed along here.Look down, and in this moonlight you can see plainlyenough the tracks of a hundred wheels."

"The horses are confident," said Middleton, "and Ithink we can be so, too."

The horses were advancing without hesitation, and itsoon became evident that nothing was concealed amongthe scanty lines of trees and bushes.

"Look out for quicksands," said Arenberg. "It issnot pleasant to be swallowed up in one of them and feelthat you have died such a useless death."

"There is no danger," said Phil, whose quick eye wasfollowing the trail of the wagons. "Here is where thetrain crossed, and if the wagons didn't sink we won't."

The water being cold and entirely free from alkali, thehorses drank eagerly, and their riders, also, took thechance to refill their canteens, which they always carriedstrapped to their saddle bows. They also rested awhile, but, when they remounted and rode on, Middleton noticeda light to the northward. On the plains then, no manwould pass a light without giving it particular attention, and the four sat on their horses for some minutesstudying it closely. They thought at first that it might be asignal 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 weoughtn't to leave a camp fire burning away here on theplains, and we not knowing anything about it. It won'ttake us long to ride up and inspect it."

"That is a truth," said Middleton. "It is not adifficult 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 beliefthat it was a camp fire was soon confirmed. They sawthe red blaze rising and quivering, and then dusky figurespassing and repassing before it.

"We're yet too far away to tell exactly what thosefigures are," said Bill Breakstone, "but I don't see any signof long hair or war bonnets, and so I take it that they arenot Comanches, nor any other kind of Indians, for thatmatter. No warriors would build so careless a fire orwander 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 conicalhats as they pass before the fire."

"Now I wonder what they're doing here on Texassoil," said Bill Breakstone.

Middleton did not answer, but Phil noticed that thelook in his eyes was singularly tense and eager. As theydrew near the fire, which was a large one, and thehoof-beats of their horses were heard, two men in Mexican.dress, tall conical broad-brimmed hats, embroidered coatsand trousers and riding boots, bearing great spurs, cameforward to meet them. Phil saw another figure, whichhad been lying on a blanket by the fire, rise and stand atattention. He instantly perceived, even then, somethingfamiliar in the figure.

The four rode boldly forward, and Middleton calledout:

"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 Englishbut with a strong Mexican accent. "We are glad foranybody 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 Mexicanenvoy, Zucorra, in New Orleans, one whom he hadinstinctively disliked, one whom he was exceedinglyastonished to see at such a time and place. Middleton alsorecognized him, because he raised his cap and saidpolitely:

"This is a pleasant meeting. You are Captain Pedrode Armijo, who came to our capital with His ExcellencyDon Augustin Xavier Hernando Zucorra on a mission, intended to be of benefit to both our countries. Myname is Middleton, George Middleton, and these are myfriends, Mr. Breakstone, Mr. Arenberg, and Mr. Bedford."

De Armijo gave every one in turn a quick scrutinizinglook, and, with flowing compliment, bade them welcometo his fireside. It seemed that he did not rememberMiddleton, but that he took for granted their formermeeting in Washington. Phil liked him none the morebecause of the polite words he used. He was not one tohold prejudice because of race, but this Mexican had amanner 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 vastplains, so far from a house or any other human beings, plains that were once Mexican, but which you now callyours."

De Armijo glided over the last words smoothly, butthe blood leaped in Phil's temples. Middleton apparentlytook no notice, but said that he and his comrades wereriding across the plains mainly on an exploringexpedition. As there was some danger from Comanches, theywere traveling partly by night, and, having seen the campfire, they had come to investigate it, after the custom ofthe wilderness.

"And, now that you have found us," said de Armijowith elaborate courtesy, "I have reason to believe thatyou would run into Comanche horsemen a little fartheron. They would not harm us Mexicans, with whom theyare at peace, but for you Americans they would havelittle mercy. Stay with us for the remainder of thenight."

He smiled, showing his white teeth, and Middletonsmiled back as he replied:

"Your courtesy is appreciated, Captain de Armijo.We shall stay. It is pleasant, too, to welcome a gallantMexican officer like yourself to American soil."

The eyes of de Armijo snapped in the firelight, andthe white teeth were bared again. Phil knew that heresented the expression "American soil." Mexico stillmaintained a claim to Texas-which it could not makegood-and he felt equally confident that Middleton hadused it purposely. It seemed to him that some sort ofduel was in progress between the two, and he watched itwith overwhelming curiosity. But de Armijo quicklyreturned to his polite manner.

"You speak the truth," he said. "It is I who amyour guest, not you who are mine. It was Mexican soilonce, and before that Spanish-three centuries under ourrace-but now gone, I suppose, forever."

Middleton did not reply, but approached the fire andwarmed his hands over the blaze. The night was coldand the flames looked cheerful. The others tethered theirhorses, and all except the two who had met the Americanstook their places by the fire. The Mexicans were sixin number. Only de Armijo seemed to be a man of anydistinction. The others, although stalwart and wellarmed, were evidently of the peon class. Phil wonderedwhat this little party was doing here, and the convictiongrew upon him that the meeting had something to dowith Middleton's mission.

"I am sorry," said de Armijo, "that we do not evenhave a tent to offer you, but doubtless you are accustomedto sleeping under the open sky, and the air of theseplains is dry and healthy."

"A blanket and a few coals to warm one's feet aresufficient," said Middleton. "We will avail ourselves ofyour courtesy and not keep you awake any longer."

Both Breakstone and Arenberg glanced at Middleton, but they said nothing, wrapping themselves in theirblankets, 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 ofComanches who were, at all times, the bitterest and mostdangerous of enemies. Yet Middleton must have somegood reason, he was not a man to do anything rash orfoolish, and Phil awaited the issue with confidence.

Phil could not sleep. The meeting had stirred himtoo much, and his nerves would not relax. He laybefore the fire, his feet within a yard of the coals, and hishead in the crook of his arm. Now and then he heard ahorse move or stamp his hoofs, but all the men weresilent. De Armijo, lying on a blanket and with a fineblue cavalry cloak spread over him, seemed to be asleep, but as he was on the other side of the fire Phil could notsee his eyes. Middleton was nearer, and he saw his chestrising and falling with the regularity of one who sleeps.

It all seemed very peaceful, very restful. Perhaps deArmijo's hospitality was real, and he had wronged himwith his suspicions. But reason with himself as hewould, Phil could not overcome his dislike and distrust.Something was wrong, and something was going tohappen, yet much time passed and nothing happened. DeArmijo's eyes were still shaded by his cloak, but his longfigure lay motionless. Only a few live coals remainedfrom the fire, and beyond a radius of twenty feet lay theencircling rim of the darkness. At the line where lightand dark met, crouched the two peons with their riflesacross their knees. It was Phil's opinion that they, too, slept in this sitting posture. Surely de Armijo and hismen had great confidence in their security, and must beon the best of terms with the Comanches! If so, it mightincrease the safety of the little American party, also, butthe boy yet wondered why Middleton had stopped whenthey were all so eager to reach the wagon train and warnit of the new danger.