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

"It was well done, Herr Philip," said Arenberg. Hedid not look back, but he knew from the cry of theIndians that Phil's bullet had struck its target. TheComanches dropped back somewhat, but they were still nearenough to keep the two flying horses in sight. Phil andArenberg maintained their course, which was leading farfrom The Silver Cup. Phil's brain was cooling with thelong gallop, and his nerves were becoming steadier. Thechange in himself caused him to notice other changesaround him.

The air felt damp to his face, and the night seemedto have grown darker. He thought at first that it wasmere fancy, but when he looked up he knew that it wasthe truth. He could not see the moon, and, just as helooked, the last star winked and went out. The damptouch on his face was that of a snowflake, and, as he stilllooked, the dark clouds stalked somberly across the sky.

"The snow! the snow," he murmured in eager prayer."Let it come! It will save us!"

Another and larger flake dropped on his face, and-after it, came more, falling fast now, large and feathery.He looked back for the last time. Not a single pursuercould be seen in the heavy gloom. He felt that theirchance had come. He rode up by the side of Arenberg.

"Hans," he said, "turn sharp to the south. Lookhow the snow comes down! It is impossible for them tofollow us now. It does not matter how we blunder alongexcept that we must keep close together."

"It iss good," said Arenberg, as he turned his horse'shead. "The great God is putting a veil about us, andwe are saved!"

He spoke with unaffected solemnity, and Phil felt thathis words were true. He felt, too, that they would nothave escaped had it not been for the great snow that wasnow coming down. Surely a power had intervened intheir behalf.

They rode southward for about an hour through forest, comparatively free from undergrowth, the two horseskeeping so close together that the knees of their riderstouched. The snow continued to fall, and they went on, always in a dense white gloom, leaving to their horses thechoice of the path. They stopped finally under a hugetree, where they were sheltered, in some degree, from thesnow, and Arenberg made the boy more comfortable onthe saddle behind.

"Hello, Billy," said Phil. "Do you know thatyou've been away from home a long time? Your fatherwas beginning to fear that you'd never come back."

The boy smiled, and, despite the Indian paint on hisface, Phil saw there the blue eyes and features ofArenberg. He guessed, too, that the black hair under the capwould become gold as soon as the paint wore off.

"I not know at first," said Billy, speaking slowly andhesitatingly, as if it were difficult for him to rememberthe English language, "but the song when I hear it one, two, three times, then it come back and I answered. Iknew my father, too, when he picked me up."

Arenberg gave him a squeeze, then he produced fromhis pocket some jerked venison, which Billy ate eagerly.

"He's strong and hearty, that's evident," said Phil."And, since we cannot leave any trail while the snow ispouring down in this way, I suggest that we let our horsesrest for awhile, and then ride as straight as we can forThe Silver Cup."

"It iss well," said Arenberg. "Nothing but onechance in a thousand could bring them upon us now, andGod iss so good that I do not think He will let thatchance happen."

Arenberg spoke very quietly, but Phil saw that thewords came from his heart. The boy still preserved thesingular stillness which he seemed to have learned fromthe Indians, but he held firmly to his father. Now andthen he looked curiously at Phil. Phil chucked himunder the chin and said:

"Quite a snow, isn't it, Billy?"

"I'm not afraid of snow," rejoined the boy, in a tonethat seemed to defy any kind of a storm.

"Good thing," said Phil, "but this is a fine snow, aparticularly fine snow. It has probably saved us all."

"Where are you going?" asked Billy.

"Where are we going?" said Phil. "Well, when thissnow lightens a little we are going to ride a long distancethrough the woods. Perhaps we'll ride until morning.Then, when morning comes, we'll keep on riding, althoughit may not be in the forest. We'll make a greatcircle to the south, and there, at the edge of the forest,we'll come to a beautiful clear little lake that four men Iknow call The Silver Cup, only you can't get at thecontents of that cup just now, as it has a fine ice covering.But overlooking The Silver Cup is a fine rocky hollowwith a neat little thatched cabin in it. We call thehollow and the cabin The Dip, and in it are two of the fourpersons, your father and I being the other two.

"It's a fine little place, a snug little place, Billy, andthere isn't any lodge anywhere on this whole continent ofNorth America that is equal to it. There is a big flatstone at one end on which we build our fire, and justabove it is a vent to carry off the smoke.

"Hanging about that cabin are some of the mostbeautiful skins and furs you ever saw. And then wehave rifles and pistols and knives and hatchets, and ashovel and an ax or two, and big soft blankets, and, when we are all in the hut at night, every fellow rolled inhis warm blanket, as you will be, being a brave newcomrade, and when the wind roars outside, and the hail andthe snow beat against it and never touch you, then youfeel just about as fine as anybody can ever feel. It'ssurely a glorious life that's ahead of you, Billy Arenberg.Those other two fellows who are waiting for you, Billy, are as good as any you ever saw. One of them is mybrother, who has just escaped from a great prison, wherewicked men held him for a long time, just as you haveescaped, Billy, from the savages, to whom you don'tbelong, and the other is the bravest, oddest, wisest, funniest man you ever saw. You can't help liking him thevery first moment you see him. He talks a lot, but it'sall worth hearing. Now and then he makes up queerrhymes. I don't think he could get them printed, butwe like them all the same, and they always mean justwhat they say, which isn't generally the way of poetry. Isee right now, Billy, that that man and you are going tobe great friends. His name is William, just like yours,William Breakstone, but he's Bill and you are Billy. Itwill be fine to have a Bill and a Billy around the camp."

The boy's eyes glistened. All sorts of emotion awokewithin him.

"Won't it be fine?" he said. "I want to see that camp."

Phil had spoken with purpose. He had seen whatArenberg, thinking only of his recovered son, had failedto see, that the boy, taken in his early childhood andheld so long, had acquired something of the Indiannature. He had recognized his father and he had clung tohim, but he was primitive and as wild as a hawk. Theescape from the Indian village had been no escape for himat all, merely a transference. Phil now devoted himselfto the task of calling him back to the white world towhich he belonged.

All the time as they rode forward in the snow, Philtalked to him of the great things that were to be seenwhere the white men dwelled. He made their livesinfinitely grander and more varied than those of the Indians.He told of the mighty battle in which his father had beena combatant. Here the boy's eyes glistened more than ever.

"My father is a great warrior," he exclaimed happily.

"One of the greatest that ever lived," said Phil."There were more men, Billy, at that place we call BuenaVista than all the Comanche warriors put together severaltimes over. And there were many cannon, great guns onwheels, shooting bullets as big as your head and bigger, and the battle went on all day. You couldn't hearyourself speak, the cannon and rifles roared so terribly andwithout ever stopping, and the smoke was greater thanthat of the biggest prairie fire you ever saw, andthousands of men and horses, with long lances, charged againand again. And your father stood there all day helpingto beat them back."

Phil did not wish to speak so much of battle anddanger, but he judged that this would appeal most to theboy, who had been taught by the Comanches that valorand fighting were the greatest of all things. The boyexclaimed:

"My father is one of the greatest of all warriors! Heis a chief! He and you and I and the other two of whomyou speak will go with a great army and beat theMexicans again!"

Phil laughed and turned the talk more to the chase, the building of cabins in the wilderness, and of greatexplorations across the prairies and through the hills. Hestill held the interest of the boy, and Phil saw the soul ofthe white race growing stronger and stronger within him.Arenberg listened, too, and at last he understood. Hegave his comrade a look of gratitude. That, Phil alwaysconsidered one of the greatest rewards he ever received.

They finally found a partial shelter in a ravineprotected by trees, and here they dismounted in order to restthe horses and shake the snow from themselves. Butthey were not suffering from the snow. They were allwarmly clad, and, as usual in the West in winter, Philand Arenberg carried heavy blankets at their saddlehorns. One of these had already been wrapped aroundBilly, and when they dismounted he remained clad in itsfolds. The fall of snow was lightening somewhat, enablingthem to see perhaps twenty feet farther into it, but it wasstill a vast white gloom.

"I think it will stop before morning," said Arenberg,"and then we can make much greater speed. Are yousleepy, Billy?"

"I do not sleep when we are in danger," replied the boy.

He spoke with such youthful pride that Phil smiled.Yet the boy meant it. His wild life had certainly harmedneither his spirit nor his body. He was taller andheavier than most boys of his age, and Phil could seethat he was as wiry and sinewy as a young panther. Heseemed to endure the hardships of the night quite as wellas Phil or his father.

"Snow is warm if there is something between you andit," said Phil. "Let's scrape out a place here againstthe bank, throw up the snow around us in walls, and restuntil daylight. It will be a little hard on the horses, butthey seem to be doing fairly well there against the trees."

"It iss wisdom that you speak," said Arenberg.

They threw back the snow until they made a denagainst the cliff, and the three, wrapped from head tofoot in their heavy blankets, crouched in it close together.The snow fell upon the blankets, and, at times, when itlay too thick, they threw it all off. Billy seemedperfectly contented. Either he had no awe of the wilderness,or the presence of the others was enough for him. Hehad all the quietness and taciturnity of a little Indianlad. He did not speak at all, and did not move. Byand by his eyes closed and he slept soundly. Arenbergdrew the blanket a little more closely, until only themouth and nose showed from the blanket, his breathmaking a white rim around the aperture. Then Arenbergsaid in a whisper to Phil:

"Young Herr Philip, you have helped me to get backmy own. I cannot repay you."

"I am repaying you," said Phil. "You have alreadyhelped me."

After that they did not speak for a long time. Thesnow became lighter and lighter, then it ceased entirely.The horses were quiet in the shelter of the trees, and Philwas so snug and warm that he fell into a beautiful sleep, from which he was aroused by Arenberg.

"It iss day, Herr Philip," he said. "Look how thesun shines on the snow."

Phil drew himself out of the hole and looked at awhite world, tinted silver in the early dawn.

"Yes, it is time for us to go," he said. "WakeBilly, and we'll ride."

But Billy was already awake, his small face illuminedwith curiosity and interest.

"Now we will ride," he said to Phil, "and see themen of whom you have told me."

They had some food left, and, after eating it to thelast particle, they mounted their horses and rode with asmuch speed as was wise in the deep snow. Both Philand Arenberg had an excellent idea of direction, and, guided by the sun, they rode straight toward The SilverCup. But the snow was so deep and heavy that theywere compelled to stop often to let their horses rest, andnearly a whole day passed before they saw the familiartrees and slopes that marked the approach to The SilverCup. It was a glad sight. They were thoroughlyexhausted with a day of plowing through the snow, andthe horses were in the same condition. A trace of smokemarked the point at which The Dip lay.

"They're at home to callers, or at least one of themis," said Phil, "and I'll be glad to be on the inside ofthat hut again, with real red coals before me on a stonehearth."

In order to give the horses an equal chance, Billy, through the day, had ridden alternately behind Phil andhis father. Now he was behind Arenberg, and he leanedforward eagerly to see. Before him lay a sort of pathtrampled in the snow, and, suddenly leaping from thehorse, he ran forward with the agility and speed of a deer.

Bill Breakstone and John Bedford were inside thelittle thatched hut, and the red coals of which Phil hadspoken in fancy were really burning on the hearth. Theyhad made no search for Phil and Arenberg in the deepsnow, knowing that such a thing was useless. There wasnot one chance in a thousand that they could find them, while Phil and Arenberg, strong, capable, and brave, were sure to come back. So they took their rest andmade the place as comfortable as possible for the returnof their partners, who would certainly be cold and hungry.

"John, keep that coffee ready to put on," said BillBreakstone. "You know that your brother loves coffeewhen he comes in out of the snow and the cold."

"It will be ready any minute," replied John Bedford."And I'm glad, Bill, you thought of that little pot of teafor Arenberg. You know he loves to have it about oncea week."

"So I do," said Bill Breakstone. "Good old Hans.I suppose that he and Phil made a burrow somewhere inthe woods, and slept in it last night. Naturally it's slowtraveling back here through such a deep snow. Now whatunder the sun is that?"

The rude door of their little thatch was suddenlythrown open, and a small painted face thrust in. Butthe eyes in the painted face staring at them so intently, were blue, although they did not then notice the fact.

"A little Indian boy," said Bill Breakstone, rising."Probably he got lost from a band in the storm and hasstumbled upon us. We wouldn't welcome a lot ofwarriors, but we won't repel one boy. Come in, Red Jacket,Tecumseh, Powhatan, or whatever your name may be.We won't hurt you."

To his immense surprise the boy walked boldly in, came straight up to him, and said, in excellent English: "I know that you are Bill Breakstone, and I want tohear you make rhymes."

Bill stared and stared. It was perhaps the first andlast time in his life that he was dumfounded. But twolarger figures came in immediately behind the boy, andPhil said:

"Mr. William Breakstone, I wish to introduce ournew friend and comrade, Master William Arenberg. As'William' seems a trifle pompous, he is to be known asBilly to distinguish him from you, who remain the Billthat you always have been. Look this way, Billy, andyou will see my brother, John Bedford."

Hans Arenberg stood by, so happy that tears rose inhis eyes. But Bill Breakstone came at once from hiscloud of surprise. He snatched the boy up in his armsand gave him a big hug.

"Well, Billy," he cried, "here you are at last! Idon't know how they got you, but they've brought you.Now my first duty as housekeeper is to wash our littleboy's face."

He took water from a pail and promptly cleaned allthe paint off Billy's face. Then Billy stood forth a whiteand not an Indian boy, and, with the departure of thepaint, nearly all that was left of his acquired Indiannature seemed to go, too. While Phil and Arenberg toldthe story of the new miracle, he made himself easily athome, examining everything in the hut with minute care, and, by his actions, notifying Bill Breakstone and JohnBedford that he was ready at once for a cordial friendship.

"Tea is ready! So is coffee," announced Bill Breakstonepresently. "Now sit down, eat, drink, and bemerry, for to-morrow you may not have such a good chance."

They charged with avidity, and little Billy Arenbergproved that he was already a mighty trencherman in themaking.

"I wish I had some German blood in me, then Icould eat with a fair appetite," said Bill Breakstone, ashe reached for a huge buffalo steak.