The Quest of the Four Part 4

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

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

"Once I thought I would not speak of it at all," said the boy. "I was afraid they would say it was only a dream 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 has come when we must be cautious."

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

The news was variously received, because there were many kinds of men in this train. Some took it seriously; others were disposed to laugh, and to hint, as Phil had feared, that it was fancy or a dream; and others cared nothing about it. What was a single wandering warrior to them?

But the leader compelled a more careful advance. Scouts were sent ahead, and others rode on the flanks. Phil and his comrades shared in this duty, and that very day he and Bill Breakstone and Arenberg were among those who rode ahead.

It was not an easy duty, because they were now in thick forest, with much swampy ground about. Dark funereal cypresses abounded in the marshy soil, and gloomy moss hung from the live oaks. A deer sprang up, and Phil pulled down his rifle, but Breakstone would not let him shoot.

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

"Say that again," said Arenberg.

"One crowded hour of glorious life is worth a world without a name."

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

But as two or three days pa.s.sed with no sign of trouble, the face that Phil had seen in the bushes was forgotten or ignored. It was a light-hearted crowd, used to wild life and adventure, and these men, drawn from different parts of the globe, occupied with to-day, took little thought of to-morrow's dangers. The weather remained beautiful.

Days and nights were dry, and they were again on good firm earth, which made the way of the wagons easy. Phil, instructed by Bill Breakstone, stalked and shot a deer, a fine, fat buck, which gave a slice for everybody in the train, and which brought him compliments. In fact, he was already a general favorite, and he did not mind when they jested now and then about the face in the bushes, and told him that he was a seer of visions. He was rapidly becoming an adept in the forest life, to which he took naturally, and in Bill Breakstone he had no mean tutor.

Breakstone soon showed that he was a scout and trailer of the first quality, although he did not explain why he had spent so many years in the wilds.

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

Phil flushed with pleasure. In the task that he had set for himself he greatly needed forest lore, and it was a keen satisfaction to know that he was acquiring it. He redoubled his efforts. He always noted carefully the country through which they pa.s.sed, the configuration of the earth, and the various kinds of trees and bushes. At night he would often ask Bill Breakstone to question him, and from his superior knowledge and longer training to point out a mistake whenever he might make it. Bill was a severe teacher, and he criticised freely whenever Phil was wrong. But he admitted that his pupil was making progress.

Arenberg was smoking his pipe at one of their sittings, and, taking it out of his mouth, he remarked:

"No harm iss done where none iss meant. Now what I wish to ask you, Herr Breakstone, and you, young Herr Philip, would you remember all your lessons if you were on foot on the prairie, unarmed, and a wild Comanche warrior were riding at you, ready to run his lance through you?"

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

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

Only Phil noticed the faint tone of sadness with which his words ended, and he glanced quickly at the German. But Arenberg's face expressed nothing. Once more he was pulling calmly at his pipe. Bill Breakstone gave his words hearty indors.e.m.e.nt.

"You're right," he said. "The Grand Duke of Germany speaks the truth.

I've embodied that piece of wisdom 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 Bill Breakstone with admiration.

"It iss one great man, this Herr Bill Breakstone," he said. "He makes poetry and tells the truth at the same time."

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

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

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

Phil deemed it wise to imitate him, and the four found places in the large wagon among their goods, where they had the shelter of the canvas roof, although the cover was open at either end to allow the clean sweep of the air. Phil, as usual, slept well. Five minutes was about all he needed for the preparatory stage, and to-night was no exception. But he awoke again in the middle of the night. Now he knew full well the cause. Low thunder was rumbling far off at the edge of the earth, and a stroke of lightning made him wink his sleepy eyes. Then came a rush of cold air, and after it the rain. The big drops rattled on the curving canvas roof, but they could not penetrate the thick cloth. Phil raised himself a little, and looked out at the open ends, but he saw only darkness.

Meanwhile the rain increased and beat harder upon the roof, which shed it like shingles. Phil drew his blanket up to his chin, rested his head and shoulders a little more easily against a bag of meal, and never had a greater sense of luxury in his life. The beat of the rain on the canvas was like the patter of the rain on the roof of the old home, when he was a little boy and lay snug under the eaves. He had the same pleasant sense of warmth and shelter now. The storm might beat about him, but it could not touch him. He heard the even breathing of his comrades, who had not awakened. He heard the low thunder still grumbling far off in the south-west, and the lightning came again at intervals, but he sank gently back to slumber.

When he awoke the next morning the rain was still falling, and the whole world was a sodden gray. The air, too, was full of raw chill, despite the southern lat.i.tude, and Phil shivered. It was his first impulse to draw the blanket more tightly, but he resolutely put the impulse down.

He threw the blanket aside, slipped on his coat and boots, the only apparel that he had removed for the night's rest, and sprang out into the rain, leaving his comrade still asleep.

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

"Well, you do make me ashamed of myself, Sir Knight of the Dripping Forest," he said. "When we awoke and found you already up and at work, we concluded that it was time for us to imitate so good an example.

Ugh, how cold this rain is, and we five hundred miles from an umbrella!"

Phil was compelled to laugh, and then the laugh made him feel better.

But it was a morning that might well oppress the bravest. The wet wood was lighted with extreme difficulty, and then it smoked greatly under the rain. It was hard to do the cooking, and breakfast was not satisfying. But Phil refused to make any complaint. With the rain in his face, he spoke cheerfully of sunshine and warm dry plains.

"We ought to strike the plains of Texas to-morrow or the next day," said Bill Breakstone. "I've been through this 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 no turning, it's one just as long that has no end."

They started late, and deep depression hung over the train. The men no longer sang or made jokes at the expense of one another, but crouched upon their horses or the wagon seats, and maintained a sullen silence.

Phil was on horseback, but he dried himself at one of the fires, and with the blanket wrapped around his body he was now fairly well protected. It was hard to maintain a pleasant face, but he did it, and Middleton, whom all now usually called Cap, looked his approval.

They advanced very slowly through thickets and across email streams, with mists and vapors so dense that they could see but little ahead.

They did not make more than seven or eight miles that day, and, wet and miserable, they camped for the night. The guard was still maintained, 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 and vapors were gone, and a beautiful sun was shining. All of Phil's good spirits came back as he sprang out of the wagon and looked at the drying earth.

The whole camp was transformed. The cooking fires burned ruddily and with a merry crackle. The men sang their little songs and made their little jokes. They told one another joyously that they would be out of the forest soon and upon the open prairies. They would be in Texas--Texas, that wonderful land of mystery and charm; Texas, already famous for the Alamo and San Jacinto. The fact that this Texas was filled with dangers took nothing from the glow at their hearts. Phil shared in 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 that run to the head," he said. "No harm iss done where none iss meant, but it iss a long road across Texas, and there iss no mile of it which does not have its dangers. Who should know better than I?"

"You speak the truth," said Middleton. "I often think of that Comanche, Black Panther, whose face Phil saw in the thicket."

"You are right to speak of it," said Bill Breakstone. "I have been in the West. I have spent years there. I have been in places that no other white man has ever seen, and just when you think this West, beyond the white man's frontier, is most peaceful, then it is most dangerous.

_Hamlet_, Prince of Denmark, was a dreamy kind of fellow, but when the time came he was a holy terror."

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

"Do you know the country, Bill?" asked Middleton.

"I think so," replied Breakstone. "Unless I'm mightily mistaken, and I don't think I am, this forest ends in four or five miles. Then we come right out on the genuine Texas plain, rolling straight; away for hundreds of miles. I think I'll take Phil here and ride forward and see if I'm not right. Come, Phil!"