The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista by Joseph A. Altsheler
CHAPTER X
PHIL'S LETTER
Now began the great march. The whole train was filled with anextraordinary animation. South to Taylor! South to the Rio Grande!South to join the forlorn hope against the Mexican masses! It appealedto them more than Santa Fe had ever appealed. Wild spirits, thrillingwith the love of adventure and the hope of battle, they had before themthe story of Texas and its gallant and victorious stand againstoverwhelming numbers. They knew every detail of that desperate andsuccessful struggle, and they felt that they could do as well. Indeed,among them were some who had been mere boys at San Jacinto, and theybegan to talk of Sam Houston and that glorious war, of Goliad and of theAlamo, when the last man fell.
But while they talked they worked. In their zeal and enthusiasm theyforgot that not one man in ten had closed his eyes the night before,and, a half hour after the brief breakfast was finished, they startedagain. It was a long journey, but they were prepared for it, and theymoved steadily onward all through the day. Two or three times singlehorsemen were seen through the field glasses, but they were so far awaynone could tell whether they were Indians or Mexicans. Middleton,however, was firmly convinced that they would not be attacked again, atleast not by the same forces which had been making so much trouble forthem.
"There isn't much profit in hunting us," he said, "we are too difficultgame, and the hunter has suffered more damage than the hunted.Moreover, de Armijo will want to join the main Mexican army near the RioGrande. More glory is to be won there, and, if I mistake not, he is anexceedingly ambitious man. But the Comanches will leave so formidable afoe to snap up wandering hunters or small parties."
Middleton's theory seemed probable, but they did not relax the watch.That night half the men stood guard until midnight, and the other halfuntil morning. The whole night passed in complete peace. There was nota single shot at the sentinels. The only sounds they heard were thelonesome howls of coyotes far out on the plain. Phil, Breakstone, andArenberg were in the first watch, and they walked back and forthtogether in a little segment of the circle about thirty yards from thewagons. They talked more than usual, as they shared in the generalbelief that there would be no further attack, at least, not yet.
The night, in truth, was in sharp contrast with the one that hadpreceded it. There was no rain and no wind, the sky was just a peacefulblue, cut by the white belt of the Milky Way, and with the great starsdancing in myriad pools of light. Strife and battle seemed far away andforgotten.
"It will take us a long time to reach General Taylor on the Rio Grandeor beyond, where he iss likely to be," said Arenberg.
"A couple of months, maybe," said Breakstone.
"And then," continued Arenberg, "we do not know how long we will have tostay there. We do not know what great battles we will have to fight,and if we live through it all it may be a year, two years, until we cancome back into the North."
"Not so long as that, I think," replied Breakstone.
Phil noticed Arenberg's melancholy tone, and once more he wondered whatthis man's quest might be. Evidently it did not lie to the south, for tohim alone the turning from the old course had caused pain. He could notkeep from showing sympathy.
"I feel that all of us will come back sooner or later, Mr. Arenberg," hesaid, "and we will go on in the way we chose first, and to success."
The German put his hand affectionately on the boy's shoulder.
"There are no prophets in these days," he said, "but now and then thereiss a prophecy that comes true, and it may be that our God puts it inthe mouth of a boy like you, instead of that of an older man. Youstrengthen my weak faith, Philip."
His tone was so solemn and heartfelt that the other two were silent.Surely the motive that drew Arenberg into the wilderness was a mostpowerful one! They could not doubt it. They walked without saying moreuntil it was twelve when Bill Breakstone dropped his rifle from hisshoulder with a great sigh of relief.
"It's just occurred to me that I haven't slept a wink for thirty-sixhours," he said, "and I'm going to make up for lost time as soon as Ican."
"Me, too," said Phil.
"Much sleep iss meant by me, also," said Arenberg.
Phil concluded to sleep in a wagon that night, and, in order to enjoythe full luxury of rest, he undressed for the first time in severaldays. Then he found a soft place in some bags of meal, covered himselfwith a blanket, and shut his eyes.
He had a wonderful sense of safety and comfort. After so much hardshipand danger, this was like a king's bed, and the royal guards wereoutside to keep away harm. It was extraordinary how some sacks of flourand an army blanket could lull one's senses into golden ease.
He heard a few noises outside, a sentinel exchanging a word withanother, the stamp of a restless horse's hoof, and then, for the lasttime, the long, lonesome howl of the coyote. A minute after that he wasasleep. When he awoke the next day he felt that he was moving. Heheard the cracking of whips and the sound of many voices. He sprang up,lifted the edge of the wagon cover, and looked out. There was the wholetrain, moving along at its steady, even pace, and a yellow sun, at leastfour hours high, was sailing peacefully in blue heavens. Phil, ashamedof himself, hurried on his clothes and sprang out of his wagon at therear. The first man he saw was Bill Breakstone, who was walking insteadof riding.
"Bill," he exclaimed indignantly, "here I've been sleeping all themorning, while the rest of you fellows have been up and doing!"
"Don't you worry yourself, Sir Philip of the Wagon and the Great Sleep,"replied Bill Breakstone grinning. "A good wilderness rover rests when hecan, and doesn't rest when he can't. Now you could rest, and it was theright thing for you to do. I haven't been up myself more than half anhour, while Captain Middleton and Arenberg are still asleep. Now, mymerry young sir, I hope that will satisfy you."
"It does," replied Phil, his conscience satisfied, "and between you andme, Bill, it seems to me that we have come out of our troubles so farmighty well."
"We have," replied Bill Breakstone emphatically. "The curtain has gonedown on act one, with honest and deserving fellows like you and myselfon top. Act two hasn't begun yet, but meanwhile the winds blow softly,the air is pure, and we'll enjoy ourselves."
"Have you seen anything of our Comanche and Mexican friends?"
"Not a peep. We're marching in looser order now, because if they camewe'd have ample time to form in battle array after we saw them."
But no enemy appeared that day nor the next day, and they rode south formany days in peace. Although eager to reach the Rio Grande as soon aspossible, they were too wise to hurry the animals. The steady, measuredpace was never broken, and they took full rest at night. They stoppedsometimes to kill game and replenish their supplies of food. They foundplenty of buffalo, and the most skillful of the hunters also secured allthe antelope that they wished. Now and then they crossed a river thatcontained fish, and they added to their stores from these, also.
They were now far into the summer, but the grass was still green,although the heat at times was great, and rain fell but seldom. Thecharacter of the vegetation changed as they went south. Bill Breakstonedefined it as an increase of thorns. The cactus stood up in strangeshapes on the plain, but along the banks of the creeks they found manyberries that were good to the taste. Four weeks after the turn to thesouth they met two messengers coming from the direction of Santa Fe andbound for the mouth of the Rio Grande. They were American soldiers incivilian dress whom Middleton knew, and with whom it had evidently beena part of his plan to communicate. He received from them importantnews, over which he pondered long, but, some time after the two men haddisappeared under the horizon to the eastward, he spoke of it to Phil,Breakstone, and Arenberg.
"They have heard much," he said, "but it comes largely through Mexicanchannels. It is said that an American force from one of the WesternStates is moving on Santa Fe, and that it is likely to fall into ourhands. It is said,
"I know Taylor can't have been beaten," said Phil; "but I'll be mightyglad when we reach the Rio Grande and find out for sure everything thatis going on."
"That's so," said Bill Breakstone.
"News is contrary, But we'll go; Our views vary, But we'll know.
Although we'll have to wait a long time about it, as Texas runs onforever."
The tenor of the messages soon spread through the train, and increasedthe desire to push on; yet neither Middleton nor Woodfall deemed it wiseto give the animals too great a task for fear of breaking them down.Instead, they resolutely maintained their even pace, and bearing now tothe eastward, still sought that Great River of the North which isgreater in history and political importance than it is in water.
The time, despite the anxieties that they all shared, was not unpleasantto Phil. He enjoyed the free life of the wilderness and the vastplains. He saw how men were knitted together by common hardship andcommon danger. He knew every man and liked them all; hence, all likedhim. He could never meet one of them in after life without a throb ofemotion, a sense of great fellowship, and a sudden vivid picture ofthose days rising before him. He also learned many things that were ofvalue. He knew how to mend any part of a wagon, he understood thetroubles of horses, and he could handle a mule with a tact and skillthat were almost uncanny.
"I suppose that mules, being by nature contrary animals, _like_ Phil,"said Bill Breakstone. "I've always behaved decently toward them, but Inever knew one yet to like me."
"You want to treat a mule not like an animal but like a human being,"said Arenberg. "They know more than most men, anyhow. It iss all inthe way you approach them. I know how it ought to be done, although Ican't always do it."
Many such talks beguiled the way. Meanwhile Phil could fairly feelhimself growing in size and strength, and he longed like the others forthe sight of Taylor and his army. The idea of taking part in a greatwar thrilled him, and it might also help him in his search. Meanwhile,the summer waned, and they were still in Texas. It seemed that theymight ride on forever and yet not reach that famous Rio Grande. Thegrass turned brown on the plains, the nights grew cooler, and twonorthers chilled them to the bone. Several times they saw Comancheshovering like tiny black figures against the horizon, but they nevercame near enough for a rifle shot. Twice they met hunters and scouts whoconfirmed the earlier news obtained from the two messengers from thewestward. Taylor, beyond a doubt, had halted a hundred and fifty or twohundred miles beyond the Rio Grande. There was even a rumor that he hadbeen captured. This might or might not be true, but there was no doubtof the fact that an advance on the City of Mexico, due southward byland, was no longer intended. The report that Scott was to lead the armyby way of Vera Cruz was confirmed. Middleton was troubled greatly, asPhil could see.
"I don't like the looks of this," he confided to his three most intimateassociates, who, of course, were Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg."I can't believe that Taylor has been taken--he isn't that kind of aman--but this stripping him of his forces to strengthen Scott will leavehim almost unarmed before a powerful enemy."
Phil saw the cogency of his reasoning. Deeply patriotic, his privatemotives could not rule him wholly in the face of such an emergency. Helonged with a most intense longing now for a sight of the Rio Grande. Agreat battle often hung in such an even balance that a few men mightturn the scale. The brave and resolute two hundred with the train werea force not to be despised, even where thousands were gathered. Theleaders, also felt the impulse. Despite caution and calculation, thespeed of the train was increased. They started a little earlier everymorning, and they stopped a little later every evening. Yet there weredelays. Once they had a smart skirmish with Mexican guerillas, and oncea Comanche force, which did little but distant firing, held them threedays. Then a large number of their animals, spent by the long march,fell sick, and they were compelled to delay again.
The summer waned and passed. The grass was quite dead above ground,although the roots flourished below. The cactus increased in quantity.Often it pointed long melancholy arms southward as if to indicate thatmisfortune lay that way. The great silence settled about them again.There were no Indians, no Mexicans, no scouts, no hunters. Phil'sthoughts reverted to his original quest. One day as he sat in the wagonhe took the worn paper from the inside pocket of his waistcoat and readit for the thousandth time. He was about to hold it up and put it backin its resting place, when Bill Breakstone, seeking an hour or so ofrest, sprang into the wagon, also. It was Phil's first impulse tothrust the paper quickly out of sight, and Bill Breakstone, with innatedelicacy, pretended not to see, merely settling himself, with a cheerfulword or two, into a comfortable seat. But Phil's second thought was theexact opposite. He withheld his hand and opened the worn and soiledpaper.
"This is a letter, Bill," he said, "and you've seen it."
"At a distance," replied Bill Breakstone with assumed carelessness."Too far for me to read a word of it. Love letter of yours, Phil?You're rather young for that sort of thing. Still, I suppose I'll haveto call you Sir Philip of the Lost Lady and the Broken Heart."
"It's not that," said Phil. "This letter tells why I came into theSouthwest. Somehow, I've wanted to keep it to myself, but I don't now.Will you read it, Bill? It's hard to make out some of the words, but ifyou look close you can tell."
He reached out the worn piece of paper.
"Not unless you feel that you really want me to read it," saidBreakstone.
"I really want you to do so," said Phil.
Breakstone took the paper in his hands and smoothed it out. Then heheld it up to the light, because the writing was faded and indistinct,and deciphered:
"I'm here, Phil, in this stone prison--it must be some sort of an oldSpanish castle, I think, in the Mexican mountains. We were blindfoldedand we traveled for days, so I can't tell you where I am. But I do knowthat we went upward and upward, and, when my shoes wore out, rocks sharplike steel cut into my feet. We also crossed many deep gulleys andravines. I think we went through a pass. Then we came down into groundmore nearly level. My feet were bleeding. We passed through a town andwe stopped by a well. Then a woman gave me a cup of water. My throatwas parched with dust. I knew it was a woman by her voice and her wordsof pity, spoken in Mexican. Then we came here. I have been shut up in acell. I don't know how long, because I've lost count of time. But I'mhere, Phil, between four narrow walls, with a narrow window that looksout on a mountainside, where I can see scrub pines and the thornycactus. You're growing up now, Phil, and you may be able to come withfriends for me. There's one here that's kind to me, the old woman whobrings me my food, and she's loaned me a pencil and paper to write this.I've written the letter, and she's going to smuggle it away somehownorthward into Texas, and then it may be passed on to you. I'm hoping,Phil, that it will reach you, wherever you are. If it does I know thatyou will try to come. JOHN BEDFORD."
"Look on the other side," said Phil.
Bill Breakstone turned it over and read the inscription:
"_To Philip Bedford, Esquire,_ "_Paris,_ "_Kentucky._"
Tears stood in the boy's eyes, and his hands were trembling. Breakstonewaited quietly.
"As you see," said Phil, when he felt that his voice was steady, "theletter came. It's my brother, John, who wrote it. A man riding acrossthe country from Frankfort gave it to me in Paris last year. Aflatboatman had brought it up the Kentucky River from its mouth at theOhio, and when he came to Frankfort he asked if anybody would take it toParis. A dozen were ready to do it. The flatboatman--his name wasSimmons, a mountaineer--knew nothing about the letter. He said it hadbeen given to him at the mouth of the Ohio by a man on
The boy's voice trembled now, and the tears rose in his eyes again.Breakstone looked at the paper, turning it over and over.
"The old woman that your brother writes about was faithful," he said atlast. "Likely a dozen men or women had it before it was dropped on thattable in New Orleans. What was your brother doing in Texas, Phil?"
"He was older than I, and he went to Texas to help in the fightingagainst Mexico. You know there were raids on both sides long after SanJacinto. You remember the Mier expedition of the Texans, and there wereothers like it. John and his comrades were taken in one of these, but Idon't know exactly which. I have written letters to all the Texasofficials, but none of them know anything."
"And of course you started at once," said Bill Breakstone.
"Of course. There was nothing to keep me. We were only two, and I soldwhat we had, came down the Kentucky into the Ohio, and then down theMississippi to New Orleans, where I met you and the others. I had anidea that John had been carried westward, and that I might learnsomething about him at Santa Fe, or at least that Santa Fe might be agood point from which to undertake a search. It's all guesswork anyway,that is, mostly, but when de Armijo told us that war had come I wasn'taltogether sorry, because I knew that would take us down into Mexico,where I would have a better chance to look for John. What do you thinkof it, Bill?"
"Let me look at the letter again," said Breakstone.
Phil handed it back to him, and he read and reread it, turned it overand over again, looked at the inscription, "To Philip Bedford, Paris,Kentucky," and then tried to see writing where none was.
"It's the old business of a needle in a haystack, Phil," he said."We're bound to confess that. We don't know where this letter waswritten nor when. Your brother, as he says, had lost count of time, buthe might have made a stagger at a date."
"If he had put down any," said Phil, "it was rubbed out before itreached me. But I don't think it likely that he even made a guess. Doyou know, Bill, I'm afraid that maybe, being shut up in a place likethat, it might, after a long time--well, touch his head just a little.To be shut up in a cell all by yourself for a year, maybe two years, oreven more, is a terrible thing, they say."
"Don't think that! Don't think it!" said Bill Breakstone hastily. "Theletter doesn't sound as if it were written by one who was getting just alittle bit out of tune. Besides, I'm thinking it's a wonderful thingthat letter got to you."
"I've thought of that often, myself," exclaimed Phil, a sudden lightshining in his eyes. "This is a message, a call for help. It comes outof nowhere, so to speak, out of a hidden stone castle or prison, and insome way it reaches me, for whom it was intended. It seems to me thatthe chances were a million to one against its coming, but it came. Itcame! That's the wonderful, the unforgettable thing! It's an omen,Bill, an omen and a sign. If this little paper with the few words on itcame to me through stone walls and over thousands of miles, well, I cango back with it to the one who sent it!"
His face was transfigured, and for the time absolute confidence shone inhis eyes. Bill Breakstone, a man of sympathetic heart, caught theenthusiasm.
"We'll find him, Phil! We'll find him," he exclaimed.
Philip Bedford, so long silent about this which lay nearest to hisheart, felt that a torrent of words was rushing to his lips.
"I can't tell you, Bill," he said, "how I felt when that letter washanded to me. Jim Harrington, a farmer who knew us, brought it overfrom Frankfort. He was on his horse when he met me coming down thestreet, and he leaned over and handed it to me. Of course he had readit, as it wasn't in an envelope, and he sat there on his horse lookingat me, while I read it, although I didn't know that until afterward.
"Bill, I was so glad I couldn't speak for awhile. We hadn't heard fromJohn in two or three years, and we were all sure that he was dead.After I read the letter through, I just stood there, holding it out inmy hand and looking at it. Then I remember coming back to earth, whenJim Harrington leaned over to me from his saddle and said: 'Phil, is itgenuine?'
"'It's real,' I replied, 'I'd know his handwriting anywhere in theworld.'
"'What are you going to do, Phil?' he asked.
"'I'm going to start for Mexico to-morrow,' I said.
"'It's a powerful risky undertaking,' he said.
"'I'm going to start for Mexico to-morrow,' I said again.
"Then from his height on the horse he put his hand on my head for amoment and said: 'I knew you'd go, Phil. I know the breed. I was inthe War of 1812 with your father, when we were boys together. You'reonly a boy yourself, but you go to Mexico, and I believe you'll findJohn.'
"So you see, Bill, even at the very start there was one who believedthat I would succeed."
"The signs do point that way," admitted Bill Breakstone. "Every fact isagainst you, but feeling isn't. I've lived long enough, Phil, to knowthat the impossible happens sometimes, particularly when a fellow isstriving all his might and main to make it happen. What kind of a fellowwas this brother of yours, Phil?"
"The finest in the world," replied Phil. "He raised me, Bill, as theysay up there in Kentucky. He is four years older than I am, and we wereleft orphans, young. He taught me about everything I know, helped me atschool, and then, when I got big enough, we made traps together, and inthe fall and winter caught rabbits. Then I had a little gun, and heshowed me how to shoot squirrels. We went fishing in the Kentuckyoften, and he taught me to ride, too. He was big and strong. Althoughonly a boy himself, he could throw anybody in all the towns about there,but he was so good-natured about it that the men he threw liked him.Then we began to hear about Texas. Everybody was talking about Texas.Many were going there, too. It seemed to us the most wonderful countryon earth. John caught the fever. He was going to make fortunes forboth of us. I don't know how, but he meant to do it. I wasn't bigenough to go with him, but he would send for me later. He went down theriver to New Orleans. I had a letter from him there, and another fromSan Antonio, but nothing ever came after that until this dirty, greasylittle piece of paper dropped out of the skies. It was four yearsbetween."
"Four years between!" repeated Bill Breakstone, "and we don't know whathas happened in all that time. But it seems to me, Phil, that you'reright. If this little piece of paper has come straight out of the darkthousands of miles to you, then it's going to be a guide to us back tothe place where it started, because, Phil, I'm going to help you inthis. I've got a secret errand of my own, and I'm not going to tell itto you just yet, but it can wait. I'm going to see you through, Phil,and we're going to find that brother John of yours, if we have to ripopen every prison in Mexico."
His own eyes were bright now with the light of enthusiasm, and he heldout his hand, which Phil seized. The fingers of the two were compressedin a strong clasp.
"It's mighty good of you, Bill," said the boy, "to help me, because thisisn't going to be any easy search."
"It won't be any search at all for awhile," said Bill Breakstone,"because a great war is shoving in between. We are approaching the RioGrande now, Phil."
The summer was now gone, and they were well into autumn. The train hadcome a great distance, more miles than any of them could tell. Coolwinds blew across the Texas uplands, and the nights were often sharpwith cold. Then the fires of cottonwood, dry cactus, or buffalo chipswere very welcome, and it was pleasant to sit before them and speculateupon what awaited them on the other side of the Rio Grande. They hadpassed beyond the domain of the Comanches, and they were skirting alongthe edge of a country that contained scattered houses of adobe or logcabins--Me
There had been a revolution or something like it in Mexico. The reportof the American successes, at the beginning, was true. Taylor haddefeated greatly superior numbers along the Rio Grande, and, after asevere battle, had taken Monterey by storm. Then the Mexicans, wildwith rage, partly at their own leaders, had turned out Paredes, theirpresident, and the famous Santa Anna had seized the power. Santa Anna,full of energy and Latin eloquence, was arousing the Mexican nationagainst invasion, and great numbers were gathering to repel the littleAmerican armies that had marched across the vast wilderness to theMexican border. This news made Middleton very serious, particularlythat about Santa Anna.
"He's been called a charlatan, a trickster, cruel, unscrupulous, andmany other things not good," he said one evening as they sat about afire, "and probably all the charges are true, but at the same time he isa man of great ability. He has intuition, the power to divine the plansof an opponent, something almost Napoleonic, and he also has fire andenergy. He will be a very dangerous man to us. He hates us all themore because the Texans took him at San Jacinto. If I remember rightly,two boys looking for stray mules found him hiding in the grass the dayafter the battle, and brought him in a prisoner. Such a man as he is notlikely to forget such a humiliation as that."
"I have seen him with my own eyes," said Arenberg. "He iss a cruel manbut an able one. Much harm iss meant, and much may be done."
That ended the German's comment, and, taking his pipe, he smoked andlistened. But his face, lighted up by the flames, was sad. It washabitually sad, although Phil believed that the man was by nature cheeryand optimistic. But Arenberg still kept his secret.
They learned, also, that there had been an armistice between theAmericans and the Mexicans, but that Santa Anna had used all the timefor preparations. Then the negotiations were broken off, and the warwas to pass into a newer and fiercer phase. Taylor was at Saltillo,about two hundred miles beyond the line, but Scott, who had been on theRio Grande some time earlier, had taken most of his good officers andtroops for the invasion by way of Vera Cruz, and Taylor, with his smallremaining force, was expected to stand on the defensive, even to retreatto the Rio Grande. Instead of that, he had advanced boldly into themountains. Politics, it was said, had intervened, and Taylor was to beshelved. Middleton, usually reserved, commented on this to Phil,Breakstone, and Arenberg, who, he knew, would not repeat his words.
"I've no doubt that this news is true," he said, "and it must be abitter blow to old Rough and Ready--that's what we call Taylor in thearmy. He's served all his life with zeal and efficiency, and now he'sto be put aside, after beginning a successful and glorious campaign.It's a great wrong that they're doing to Zachary Taylor."
"But we're going to join him anyhow, are we not?" asked Phil.
"Yes, that's our objective. I should have to do so, because my originalinstructions were to report to him, and they have not been changed.And, with Santa Anna leading the Mexicans, what our Government expectsto happen at one place may happen at another."
The train itself was now in splendid condition. All the wounded men hadfully recovered. The sick horses and mules were well again. Theweather had been good, game was plentiful, their diet was varied andexcellent, and there was no illness. Moreover, their zeal increased asthey drew near the seat of war, and the reports, some true, some false,and all lurid, came thick and fast. It was hard to keep some of themfrom leaving the train and going on ahead, but Middleton and Woodfall,by strenuous efforts, held them in hand.
They shifted back now toward the east, and came at last to the RioGrande. Phil was riding ahead of the train, when he caught the firstview of it--low banks, an immense channel, mostly of sand, with water,looking yellow and dangerous, flowing here and there in two or threestreams. The banks were fringed but sparsely with trees, and beyond layMexico, the Mexico of Cortez and the Aztecs, the Mexico of gold andromance, and the Mexico of the lost one whom he had come so far to find.
It was one of the most momentous events in Philip Bedford's life, thisview of Mexico, to which he had come over such a long trail. It was notbeautiful, there across the Rio Grande; it was bare, dark, and dusty,with rolling hills and the suggestion of mountains far off to the right.The scant foliage was deep in autumn brown. Human life there was none.Nothing stirred in the vast expanse of desolation. The train was so farbehind him that he did not hear the rumbling of the wagon wheels, and hesat there, horse and rider alike motionless, gazing into the mistydepths of this Mexico which held so much of mystery and which attractedand repelled at the same time. Question after question throbbed throughhis mind. Would the Americans succeed in penetrating the mountains thatlay beyond? And if so, in what direction was he to go? Which wayshould he look! It seemed so vast, so inscrutable, that he wasappalled. For the first time since he had left that little Paris inKentucky he felt despair. Such a search as his was hopeless, doomed inthe beginning. His face turned gray, his chin sank upon his chest, butthen Bill Breakstone rode up beside him, and his loud, cheery voicesounded in his ear.
"Well, here we are at last, Phil," he exclaimed. "We've ridden all theway across Texas, and it must have been a hundred thousand miles. Nowwe stand, or rather sit, on the shores of the Rio Grande.
"Behold the river! But I don't quiver. They call it grand. It's mostly sand.
It's no Mississippi, Phil, but it's a hard stream for an outfit likeours to cross. I'm glad that Taylor has already cleared the way. Youremember what a fight we had with the Comanches back at the crossing ofthat other and smaller river."
"I do," said Phil, "but there is nothing here to oppose us, anddoubtless we can make the crossing in peace."