The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista by Joseph A. Altsheler
CHAPTER IV
ON WATCH
The wagons drew up in a great square on the open plain, but just at theedge of the timber, and the men, breathless, perspiring, but victorious,dropped from their horses. The Comanches still galloped to and fro andshouted in the distance, but they kept well out of rifle shot, and Phil,although it was his first battle, knew that they would not attack again,at least not for the present. They had been driven out of an extremelystrong position, ground of their own choosing, and nothing remained tothem but to retire.
The boy stood by the side of his horse, holding the bridle in one handand the rifle in the other. He was still trembling from the excitementof forcing the ford and the battle among the trees, but the reddish mistbefore his eyes was gradually clearing away. He let the bridle reindrop, and put his hand to his face. It came away damp and sticky. Helooked at it in an incurious way to see if he were wounded, but it wasonly dust and the smoke of burned gunpowder, kneaded together byperspiration. Then he felt cautiously of his body. No bullet or arrowhad entered.
"Unhurt, Phil?" boomed out the voice of Bill Breakstone beside him. "Soam I, and so is Middleton. Arenberg got a scratch, but he's forgotten italready. But, I trow, Sir Philip of the River, that was indeed a combatwhile it lasted!
"The Comanches shot With spirit hot, But now, they're not.
"You can't say anything against that poem, Phil; it's short and to thepoint. It's true that the Comanches are not entirely gone, but theymight as well be. Let 'em shout out there in the plain as much as theychoose, they're going to keep out of rifle range. And I congratulateyou, Phil, on the way you bore yourself through your first 'baptism offire.'"
"I thank you, Bill," said Phil, "but the fact is, I don't know just howI bore myself. It's been more like a dream than anything else."
"That's likely to happen to a man the first time under fire, and thesecond time, too, but here we are on the right side of the river andready for a breathing spell."
Phil threw the reins over his horse's neck, knowing that the latterwould not leave the camp, and set to work, helping to put everything inorder, ready for fight or rest, whichever the Comanches chose to makeit. The wagons were already in a hollow square, and the wounded, atleast twenty in number, laid comfortably in the wagons, were receivingthe rude but effective treatment of the border. Seven or eight had beenkilled, and three or four bodies had been lost in the current of thestream. They were now digging graves for the others. Little was knownof the slain. They were wandering, restless spirits, and they may ormay not have been buried under their own names. They had fallen in anunknown land beside an unknown river, but their comrades gave all duehonor as they put them beneath the earth. Middleton said a few wordsover the body of each, while others stood by with their hats off. Thenthey smoothed out the soil above them as completely as possible, inorder that their graves might be lost. They took this precaution lestthe Comanches come after they had gone, take up the bodies, and mutilatethem.
When the solemn task was done, the men turned away to other duties.They were not discouraged; on the contrary, their spirits were sanguine.The gloom of the burial was quickly dispelled, and these wild spirits,their fighting blood fully up, were more than half willing for theComanches to give them a new battle. It was such as these, reallyloving adventure and danger more than profit, who steadily pushedforward the southwestern frontier in the face of obstacles seeminglyinsuperable.
Their position at the edge of the wood, with the strong fortification ofthe wagons, was excellent, and Middleton and Woodfall, after a shortconsultation, decided to remain there until morning, for the sake of thewounded men and for rest for all. Phil worked in the timber, gatheringup fallen fuel for fires, which were built in the center of the hollowsquare, and he found the work a relief. Such a familiar task steadiedhis nerves. Gradually the little pulses ceased to beat so hard, and hishead grew cool. When enough dead wood had been brought in, he tookanother look at the western horizon. Comanches could still be seenthere, but they no longer galloped about and shouted. A half dozen satmotionless on their ponies, apparently looking at the white camp, theirfigures, horse and rider, outlined in black tracery against theblood-red western sun. Phil had a feeling that, although beaten at theford, they were not beaten for good and all, and that the spirit ofBlack Panther, far from being crushed, would be influenced to newpassions and new attack. But, as he looked, the Comanche horsemenseemed to ride directly into the low sun and disappear. The hard workthat had kept him up now over, he felt limp, and sank down near one ofthe fires.
"Here, Phil, drink this," said Bill Breakstone, handing him a cup of hotcoffee. "It has been a pretty hard day on the nerves, and you need astimulant."
Phil swallowed it all, almost at a draught--never had coffee tastedbetter--and his strength came back rapidly. Breakstone, also, drank acup and sat down beside the boy.
"Here comes Arenberg," he said in a low tone to Phil. "That German was avery demon to-day. He got right into the front of the charge, and afterhis rifle was empty he clubbed it and brought down one of theComanches."
Phil looked up. Arenberg's face was still set in a stern, pitilessmask, but when his eyes caught the boy's he relaxed.
"It iss a good day well spent," he said, throwing himself down by theside of the two. "We never could have forced the ford if we had notmade that flank movement. Harm wass meant by both sides and harm wassdone. But it iss over now. How does the young Herr Philip feel?"
"Pretty good now," replied Phil, "but I've had my ups and downs, I cantell you. A little while ago I felt as if there were no backbone in meat all."
Food was now cooked, and, after eating, the three relapsed into silence.Presently Middleton, also, joined them, and told them that very thoroughpreparations had been made to guard against a surprise. Sentinels onhorseback were already far out on the plain, riding a watchful roundwhich would be continued all through the night.
"It is easy to guard against surprise on that side," said Middleton,"but snipers may creep down the river bank in the timber. We must keepour best watch there."
"I'll go on duty," said Philip promptly.
"Not yet," replied Middleton. "You may be needed late in the night, inwhich case we'll call on you, but our most experienced borderers don'tthink the Comanches will come back."
"You can never trust them," said Arenberg earnestly.
"We don't mean to," said Middleton. "Now, Phil, I'd advise you to wrapyourself in your blanket and go to sleep. On a campaign it's alwaysadvisable to sleep when you're off duty, because you never know when youwill get the chance again."
It seemed to Phil that it was impossible to sleep, after so muchexcitement and danger, but he knew that Middleton was speaking wisewords, and he resolved to try. There were yet hours of daylight, but,putting his blanket beneath him, he lay before one of the fires with hisarm under his head and closed his eyes. He would open them now and thento see the yellow flames, the figures of the men moving back and forth,and the circle of wagons beyond. He could not make himself feel sleepy,but he knew that his nerves were relaxing. Physically he felt asoothing languor, and with it came a mental satisfaction. He had helpedto win his first battle, and, like the older and seasoned men aroundhim, the victory encouraged him to bid further defiance to the Comanchesor anything else that threatened.
"Putting his blanket beneath him, he lay before one ofthe fires"]
These reflections were so grateful that he found himself able to keephis eyes shut longer. It was not so much of an effort to pull theeyelids down, and when, at intervals steadily growing more distant, heopened his eyes, it was to find the fires and figures of the menbecoming dim, while the circling line of the wagons beyond was quitelost. At last the eyelids stayed down of their own accord, and hefloated away into a sleep that was deep, sweet, and refreshing.
Others in the camp slept, also, some in the wagons and some on th
Phil slept soundly hour after hour. He was so exhausted physically andmentally that the relaxation was complete. No dream good or bad came totrouble him, and Breakstone, who observed his peaceful face, said toMiddleton:
"Talk about knitting up the raveled sleeve of care. That boy is knittingup both sleeves at the same time, and he is knitting them fast."
"He is a good lad," said Middleton, "and a brave one, too. It was hisfirst battle, but he certainly bore himself well. Now I wonder whatsearch is bringing him out here into the wilderness."
"And I guess he, too, often wonders the same about us."
"Just as I have wondered it about you, and as you have wondered it aboutme."
"But we find it best--every one of us--to keep our search to ourselvesfor the present."
"It is surely best."
The two men looked at each other rather significantly, and then talkedof other things.
Phil was awakened at midnight to take his turn at the watch. The night,as it is so often on the plains of Texas, even in summer, was cold, andhe shivered a little when he drew himself out of his warm blankets. Thefires were nearly out, leaving only a few coals that did not warm, andfew figures were moving except outside the circle. His body told Philthat he would much rather sleep on, but his mind told him with greaterforce that he must go ahead and do his duty with a willing heart, asteady hand, and a quick eye. So he shook himself thoroughly, and wasready for action. His orders were to go in the timber a little to thenorthward and watch for snipers. Three others were going with him, butthey were to separate and take regular beats.
Phil shouldered his rifle and marched with his comrades. They passedoutside the circles of wagons, and stood for a few moments on the bareplain. Afar off they saw their own mounted sentinels who watched to thewestward, riding back and forth. The moon was cold, and a chill windswept over the swells, moaning dismally. Phil shivered and was gladthat he had a watch on foot in the timber. His comrades were willing tohasten with him to that shelter, and there they arranged their beats.The belt of timber was about a hundred yards wide, with a considerableundergrowth of bushes and tall weeds. They cut the hundred yards intoabout four equal spaces, and Phil took the quarter next to the river.He walked steadily back and forth over the twenty-five yards, and at thewestern end of his beat he regularly met the next sentinel, a youngMississippian named Welby, whom Phil liked. They exchanged a few wordsnow and then, but, save their low tones, the monotonous moaning of thewind among the trees, and an occasional sigh made by the current of theriver, which here flowed rather swiftly, there was no sound. On theopposite bank the trees and bushes reared themselves, a wall of darkgreen.
The chill of the night grew, but the steady walking back and forth hadincreased the circulation and warmed the blood in Phil's veins, and hedid not feel it. His long sleep, too, had brought back all his strength,and he was full of courage and zeal. He had suffered a reaction afterthe battle, but now the second reaction came. The young victor,refreshed in mind and body, feared nothing. Neither was he lonely norawed by the vast darkness of night in the wilderness. The words that hespoke with Welby every few minutes were enough to keep him in touch withthe human race, and he really felt content with himself and the world.He had done his duty under fire, and now he was doing his duty again.
He paused a little longer every time he came to the river, and forcinghis mind now to note every detail, he was impressed by the change thatthe stream had undergone. There was a fine full moon, and the muddytorrent of the day was turned into silver, sparkling more brightly wherethe bubbles formed and broke. The stream, swollen doubtless by rainsabout its source, flowed rapidly with a slight swishing noise. Phillooked up and down it, having a straight sweep of several hundred yardseither way. Now and then the silver of its surface was broken by piecesof floating debris, brought doubtless from some far point. He watchedthese fragments as they passed, a bough, a weed, or a stump, or theentire trunk of a tree, wrenched by a swollen current from some cavingbank. He was glad that he had the watch next to the river, because itwas more interesting. The river was a live thing, changing in color,and moving swiftly. Its surface, with the objects that at times sweptby on it, was a panorama of varied interest.
Besides Welby he saw no living creature. The camp was hidden from himcompletely by the trees and bushes, and they were so quiet within thecircle of the wagons that no sound came from them. An hour passed. Itbecame two, then three. Vaporous clouds floated by the moon. Thesilver light on the river waned. The current became dark yellow again,but flowing as ever with that soft, swishing sound. The change affectedPhil. The weird quality of the wilderness, clothed in dark, made itselffelt. He was glad when he met Welby, and they lingered a few secondslonger, talking a little. He came back once more to the river, nowflowing in a torrent almost black between its high banks.
He took his usual long survey of the river, both up and down stream.Phil was resolved to do his full duty, and already he had someexperience, allied with faculties naturally keen. He examined theopposite bank with questioning eyes. At first it had seemed a solidwall of dark green, but attention and the habit of the darkness nowenabled him to separate it into individual trees and bushes. Comanchesambushed there could easily shoot across the narrow stream and pick offa white sentinel, but he had always kept himself well back in his ownbushes, where he could see and yet be hidden.
His gaze turned to the river. Darker substances, drift from far banks,still floated on its surface. The wind had died. The branches of thetrees did not move at all, and, in the absence of all other sound, theslight swishing made by the flowing of the river grew louder. Hiswandering eyes fastened on a small stump that was coming from the curveabove, and that floated easily on the surface. Its motion was soregular that his glance stayed, and he watched it with interested eyes.It was an independent sort of stump, less at the mercy of the currentthan the others had been. It came on, bearing in toward the westernbank, and Phil judged that if it kept its present course it would strikethe shore beneath him.
The black stump was certainly interesting. He looked farther. Fourfeet behind it was floating another stump of about the same size, andpreserving the same direction, which was a diagonal line with thecurrent. That was a coincidence. Yet farther was a third stump,showing all the characteristics of the other two. That was remarkable.And lo! when a fourth, and then a fifth, and then a sixth came, afloating line, black and silent, it was a prodigy.
The first black stump struck lightly against the bank. Then a Comanchewarrior, immersed hitherto to the chin, rose from the stream. The waterran in black bubbles from his naked body. In his right hand he held along knife. The face was sinister, savage, and terrible beyondexpression. Another of the stumps was just rising from the stream, butPhil fired instantly at the first face, and then sprang back, shouting,"The Comanches." He did not run. He merely sheltered himself behind atree, and began to reload rapidly. Welby came running through thebushes, and then the others, drawn by the shout. In a minute the timberwas filled with armed men.
"What is it? What is it? What did you shoot at?" they cried, althoughthe same thought was in the minds of every one of them.
"The Comanches!" replied Phil. "They came swimming in a line down theriver. Their heads looked like black stumps on the water! I fired atthe first the moment he rose from the stream! I think it was their planto ambush and kill the sentinels!"
Bill Breakstone was among those who ha
"Then we must beat them off at once! We must not give them a chance toget a footing on the bank!"
They rushed forward, Phil with them, his rifle now reloaded, and gazeddown at the river. They heard no noise, but that slight swishing soundmade by the current, and the surface of the stream was bare. The riverflowed as if no foreign body had ever vexed its current. Fifty pairs ofeyes used to the wilderness studied the stream and the thickets. Theysaw nothing. Fifty pairs of ears trained to hear the approach of dangerlistened. They heard nothing but the faint swishing sound that neverceased. A murmur not pleasant to Phil, arose.
"I've no doubt it was a stump, a real stump," one of the older men said.
A deep flush overspread Phil's face.
"I saw a Comanche with long black hair rise from the water," he said.
The man who had spoken grinned a little, but the expression of his faceshowed that doubt had solidified into certainty.
"A case of nerves," he said, "but I don't blame you so much, bein' onlya boy."
Phil felt his blood grow hot, but he tried to restrain his temper.
"I certainly saw a Comanche," he said, "and there were others behindhim!"
"Then what's become of all this terrible attack?"! asked the manironically.
"Come! Come!" said Woodfall. "We can't have such talk. The boy mayhave made a mistake, but the incident showed that he was watching well,just what we want our sentinels to do."
Phil flushed again. Woodfall's tone was kindly, but he was hurt by theimplication of possible doubt and mistake. Yet Woodfall and the othershad ample excuse for such doubts. There was not the remotest sign of anenemy. Could he really have been mistaken? Could it have beensomething like a waking dream? Could his nerves have been so upset thatthey made his eyes see that which was not? He stared for a full minuteat the empty face of the river, and then a voice called:
"Oh, you men, come down here! I've something to show you!"
It was Bill Breakstone, who had slipped away from them and gone down thebank. His voice came from a point at least a hundred yards down thestream, and the men in a group followed the sound of it, descending theslope with the aid of weeds and bushes. Bill was standing at the edgeof a little cove which the water had hollowed out of the soft soil, andsomething dark lay at his feet.
"I dragged this out of the water," he said. "It was floating along,when an eddy brought it into this cove."
They looked down, and Phil shut off a cry with his closed teeth. Thebody, a Comanche warrior, entirely naked, lay upon its back. There wasa bullet hole in the center of the forehead. The features, even indeath, were exactly those that the boy had seen rising from the water,sinister, savage, terrible beyond expression. Phil felt a cold horrorcreeping through all his bones, but it was the look of this dead facemore than the fact that he had killed a man. He shuddered to think whatso much malignant cruelty could have done had it gained the chance.
"Well, men," said Bill Breakstone quietly, "was the story our youngfriend here told such stuff as dreams are made on, or did it reallyhappen?"
"The boy told the truth, and he was watching well," said a half dozentogether.
The old frontiersman who had so plainly expressed his disbelief inPhil--Gard was his name--extended his hand and said to the lad:
"I take it all back. You've saved us from an ambush that would havecost us a lot of men. I was a fool. Shake hands."
Phil, with a great leap of pride, took the proffered hand and shook itheartily.
"I don't blame you, Mr. Gard," he said. "Things certainly lookedagainst me."
"The Comanches naturally took to flight when their leader was killed,"said Woodfall. "They could not carry through such an attempt withoutsurprise, but good eyes stopped them."
Phil's heart leaped again with pride, but he said nothing. They climbedback up the slope, and the guard in the timber was tripled for the shorttime until day. Phil was told that, as he had already done so much, hemight go off duty now.
He was glad enough to seek rest, and so rapidly was he becoming used todanger that he lay down calmly before one of the fires and went to sleepagain. He awoke two or three hours later to a crisp fresh morning, andto the news that the train would promptly resume its advance, whether ornot Comanches tried to bar the way. With the intoxicating odor ofvictory still in their nostrils, the hardy frontiersmen were as willingas ever for another combat. But the enemy had disappeared completely.A brilliant sun rose over the gray-green swells, disclosing nothing buta herd of antelope that grazed far to the right.
"The antelope mean that no Comanches are near," said Arenberg. "Thewarriors will now wait patiently and a long time for a good opportunity.Sometimes much harm iss done where much iss intended."
"That is so," chanted Bill Breakstone.
"Over the plains we go, Our rifles clear the way. The Indians would say no. Our band they cannot stay.
"As I have often remarked before, Phil, my poetry may be defective inmeter and some other small technicalities, but it comes to the point.That, I believe, was the characteristic of Shakespeare, also. I agree,too, with Arenberg, that the Comanches will not trouble us again forsome time. So, I pray thee, be of good cheer, Sir Philip of the MerryCountenance, Knight of the Battle beside the Unknown River, Slayer ofComanches in the Dark, Guardian of the Public Weal, et cetera, etcetera."
"I am cheerful," said Phil, to whom Breakstone was always a tonic, "andI believe that we can beat off the Comanches any time and every time."
"Jump on your horse," said Breakstone, a little later; "we're allready."
Phil leaped into the saddle with one bound. The train moved forward,and he and Breakstone joined Middleton and Arenberg at its head.Middleton had powerful glasses, and he swept the plain far ahead, and toright and left. His gaze finally settled on a point to the south-west.The others followed his look with great interest, but the naked eyecould see nothing but the rolling gray-green plains and the dim bluehorizon beyond. Middleton looked so long that at last Bill Breakstoneasked:
"What do you see?"
"I do not see anything that I can really call living," repliedMiddleton, "but I do see a knoll or slight elevation on the plain--whatwould be called farther north a butte--and on that knoll is a blackblur, shapeless and unnamable at this distance."
"Does the black blur move?" asked Bill Breakstone.
"I cannot tell. It is too far even for that, but from it comes a beamof brilliant light that shifts here and there over the plain. Take alook, Bill."
Breakstone eagerly put the glasses to his eyes, and turned them upon theknoll.
"Ah, I see it!" he exclaimed. "It's like a ball of light! There itgoes to the right! There it goes to the left! Now it falls in ourdirection! What in the name of Shakespeare's thirty-five or forty playsis it, Cap?"
"Let me have the glasses, I want another look," replied Middleton.
His second look was a long one taken in silence. At last he replied:
"It's a signal, lads. I've seen the Comanches talk to one another inthis way before. A Comanche chief is sitting on his horse on top ofthat knoll. He holds a rounded piece of looking-glass in the hollow ofhis hand, and he turns it in such a way that he catches the veryconcentrated essence of the sun's rays, throwing a beam a tremendousdistance. The beam, like molten gold, now strikes the grass on top of aswell off toward the north. It's a secret just how they do it, for notyet has any white man learned the system of signals which they make withsuch a glass. Ah!"
The "Ah!" came forth, so deep, so long drawn, and so full of meaningthat Phil, Arenberg, and Bill Breakstone exclaimed together:
"What is it?"
"I would not have known that the black blur on top of the knoll was achief on horseback if I had not been on the Texas plains before,"replied Middleton, "but now I can make out the figures of horse and man,as he is riding around and around in a circle and riding very rapidly."
"What does that
"It means danger, not to us, but to the Comanches. The warrior isprobably signaling to a band of his tribe who are meditating attack uponus that we are too strong."
"Then it must be some fresh band," said Bill Breakstone, "because theone that had the little encounter with us yesterday knew that already."
"I take it that you're right," said Middleton, smiling and closing theglasses. "The second band won't molest us--not to-day."
"That seems to be a very effective way of signaling," remarked Phil.
"On the plains, yes," said Middleton. "It is astonishing how far such avivid beam of light will carry, as the crest of the knoll was too highfor it to be intercepted by the swells."
Middleton told Woodfall what they had seen. The leader's chin stiffeneda little more, and the wagons went on at the same pace, trailing theirbrown length across the prairie.
About ten o'clock the march became difficult, as they entered a town,but such a town! Its inhabitants were prairie dogs, queer littleanimals, which darted down into their burrows at the approach of thehorsemen and wagons, often sharing the home with a rattlesnake. But thehorsemen were now compelled to proceed with exceeding care, as thehorses' feet often sank deep down in the dens. Stumbles were frequentand there were several falls. Wagon wheels, also, sank, and the advancebecame so difficult that Woodfall halted the train and sent Phil andsome others to find a way around the town.
They rode five or six miles to the south, and still the singular townstretched away, apparently endless. Then they came back and rode fiveor six miles to the north with the same result. Acting upon the adviceof Middleton, Woodfall, after hearing these reports, decided to gostraight on through the town. It was known that such towns had beenfound twenty-five miles long, and this might be as large. So they wentdirectly ahead. The riders dismounted and led their horses. Threetimes Phil killed coiling rattlesnakes with the butt of his rifle, buthe did not seek to molest any of the prairie dogs.
They moved very slowly, and it was three hours before they crossed theprairie dog town, leaving behind them some destruction, but not morethan they could help.
"Well, Sir Philip of the Prairie Dogs, what name are you going to giveto the populous community through which we have just passed?" askedBreakstone.
"I suppose Canine Center will do as well as any other," replied Phil.
"A wise selection, my gay youth," replied Bill Breakstone. "But theseanimals, properly speaking, are not dogs, they are more like rats. I'mglad we've passed 'em. It isn't pleasant to have your horse put hisfoot in one of their dens and shoot you over his head. The good hardplain for me."
He cantered forward, and Phil cantered with him, raising his head andbreathing the pure air that blew over such vast reaches of clean earth.He felt the blood leaping in his veins again from mere physicalhappiness. He began to whistle gayly, and then to sing "Open thylattice, love," a song just coming into favor, written by the man whobecame yet more famous with "Old Kentucky Home" and "Suwanee River."Phil had a fine, fresh, youthful voice, and Breakstone listened to himas he sang through two verses. Then he held up his hand, and Philstopped.
"What's the trouble?" asked the boy.
"I don't object to your song, Phil, and I don't object to your singing,but it won't be a good time for love to open the lattice; it will bebetter to close it tight. Don't you feel a change in the air, Phil?Just turn your face to the northwest, and you'll notice it."
Phil obeyed, and it seemed to him now that the air striking upon hischeek was colder, but he imagined that it was due to the increasingstrength of the wind.
"I do not care if the wind is a little cold," he said. "I like it."
"The wind is cold, And you are bold; The sky turns gray You're not so gay; And by and by For sun you'll sigh,"
chanted Bill Breakstone, and then he added:
"See that gray mist forming in a circle about the sun, and look at thatvapor off there in the northwest. By George, how fast it spreads! Thewhole sky is becoming overcast! Unroll your blanket, Phil, and have itready to wrap around you I The whole train must stop and prepare!"
Bill Breakstone turned to give his warning, but others, too, had noticedthe signals of danger. The command stop was given. The wagons weredrawn rapidly into circle, and just as when the danger was Indians,instead of that which now threatened, all the horses and mules were putinside the circle. But now all the men, also, took their stationinside, none remaining outside as guard. The wind meanwhile rose fast,and the temperature fell with startling rapidity. The edge of the blastseemed to be ice itself. Phil, who was helping with the corral ofwagons, felt as if it cut him to the bone. He fully appreciated BillBreakstone's advice about the blanket. The day also was swiftly turningdark. The sun was quite gone out. Heavy clouds and masses of vaporformed an impenetrable veil over all the sky. Now, besides the cold,Phil felt his face struck by fine particles that stung. It was the sandpicked up by the wind, perhaps hundreds of miles away, and hurled uponthem in an enveloping storm.
Phil pulled down his cap-brim and also sheltered his eyes as much as hecould with his left arm.
"It's the Norther," cried Breakstone. "Listen to it!"
The wind was now shrieking and howling over the plains with a voice thatwas truly human, only it was like the shout of ten thousand human beingscombined. But it was a voice full of malice and cruelty, and Phil wasglad of the companionship of his kind.
The cold was now becoming intense, and he rapidly drew the blanket abouthis body. Then he suddenly bent his head lower and completely coveredhis eyes with his arm. It was hailing fiercely. Showers of whitepellets, large enough to be dangerous, pounded him, and, as the darknesshad now increased to that of night, he groped for shelter. BillBreakstone seized him by the arm and cried:
"Jump into the wagon there, Phil! And I'll jump after you!"
Phil obeyed with the quickness of necessity, and Breakstone came in ontop of him. Middleton and Arenberg were already there.
"Welcome to our wagon," said Arenberg, as Phil and Breakstonedisentangled themselves. "You landed on one of my feet, Phil, and youlanded on the other, Bill, but no harm iss done where none iss meant."
Phil cowered down and drew his blanket more closely around him, whilethe hail beat fiercely on the arched canvas cover, and the cold windshrieked and moaned more wildly than ever. He peeped out at the frontof the wagon and beheld a scene indescribable in its wild and chillinggrandeur. The darkness endured. The hail was driven in an almosthorizontal line like a sheet of sleet. The wagons showed but dimly inall this dusk. The animals, fortunately, had been tethered close to thewagons, where they were, in a measure, protected, but many of themreared and neighed in terror and suffering. One look satisfied Phil, andhe drew back well under cover.
"How often does this sort of thing happen in Texas?" he asked Arenberg.
"Not so often," replied the German, "and this Norther, I think, is theworst I ever saw. The cold wind certainly blows like der Teufel. Thesestorms must start on the great mountains far, far to the north, and Ithink they get stronger as they come. Iss it not so, Herr Breakstone?"
"Your words sound true to me, Sir Hans of the Beer Barrel," repliedBreakstone. "I've seen a few Northers in my time, and I've felt 'em,but this seems to me to be about the most grown-up, all-around, healthyand frisky specimen of the kind that I ever met."
Phil thought that the Norther would blow itself out in an hour or two,but he was mistaken. Several hours passed and the wind was as strongand as cold as ever. The four ate some cold food that was in the wagon,and then settled back into their places. No attempt would be made tocook that day. But Phil grew so warm and snug in his blanket among thebaggage, and the beating of the rain on the stout canvas cover was sosoothing, that he fell asleep after awhile. He did not know how long heslept, because when he awoke it was still dark, the wind was stillshrieking, and the other three, as he could tell by their regularbreathing, were asleep, als