The Lost Gold of the Montezumas Part 12

Miles and miles away, along the route of the winding cleft and on its westerly side, rode twice as many Comanches as had been with Great Bear when first he had been seen by Red Wolf, on the plain beyond the chaparral, two days before. His reinforcements had arrived and he was ready for extensive mischief.

At point after point, wherever the ravine was approachable and descent into it fairly easy, a warrior on foot, sometimes even on horseback, would go down and search any soft earth at the side of the little rill at the bottom. Then he would swiftly return, report that he had found the trail; that Bowie's men were farther down, all of them; and the band would ride steadily on.

Of course, this did not mean rapid riding, but it did mean a deadly and persistent pursuit. It meant a b.l.o.o.d.y revenge for slain warriors.

One brave was now sent back after the squad of watchers, but Great Bear's force was a very strong one without them. Yet other braves were riding fast and far in the advance.

Sooner or later it was sure that such a following, by trailers so skilful and so determined, would bring them near enough for a sweeping blow. What could half a dozen rangers and one Lipan boy do against the overwhelming rush of a hundred and fifty warriors?

Red Wolf did not actually come back to his white friends. He only rode near enough to whoop to them and to wave his lance, as if inviting them to follow.

"That's high!" exclaimed Jim Cheyne. "We might ha' hunted for water all night if it hadn't been for him."

"It takes an Indian sometimes," replied the colonel. "But this crowd won't make a long camp on this prairie."

"You bet!" came from several voices at once, and away they rode after the young Lipan.

It was a very pretty place for a camp, when they came to look at it.

Nearly an acre of ground was occupied by tall, old sycamores and spreading oaks, and outside of these were bushes. In the middle of all was a fine spring, from which a tiny brooklet rippled out into the plain. Close around the spring the ground had been trodden hard by the hoofs of many generations of buffalo and deer, but there was plenty of gra.s.s without picketing their horses outside of the grove.

"Boys," said Bowie, "if Great Bear should find us, he'll have braves enough to corral us in such a place as this. They could just ride around and around, out of shot, and pen us in till we starved."

"That's so," put in a short, bandy-legged ranger whom the others had called "Joe," without troubling themselves to add any other name; "but I reckon we won't wait to be penned in. What I'm a-thinkin' of jest now is bufler hump."

He had the entire sympathy of his hungry comrades, and they did not have to wait long. The fire was hardly up in good shape before the two hunters rode in, bringing the best pieces of a fine "bufler."

"Now we're all right for rations," said Jim Cheyne; "but I'd like to know what's went with that young Lipan wolf."

Every man glanced quickly around him, but the son of Castro was nowhere to be seen. He had been as ready for his supper as any white man, but stronger than anything else was his feeling that he was on his first war-path. He was a brave of the Lipans, with a new name and a new knife. He had already won some glory and he was burning for more. As for even buffalo "hump," a Lipan warrior who could not go without his dinner had never yet been heard of.

He had mounted silently, therefore, and had galloped away, straight back, along the line by which he had first come to the grove and spring. He and his pony had been watered, and the latter had nibbled a little gra.s.s, but that was all.

"Comanche come to hole," he said to himself, as he rode along. "Red Wolf see."

The plan in his head seemed to include nothing more than scouting duty, but this was of a peculiar and dangerous kind.

The shadows were deepening in the groves and on the prairie when Red Wolf reached the sink-hole, but he was able to examine it carefully.

The sides of the funnel-shaped hollow were not too steep in some places, and he led his mustang half-way down. He picketed him there, upon a slope where he could stand, a little uncomfortably, and pick gra.s.s, which was greener than any on the outside prairie. As soon as this was cared for, Red Wolf went up again and stationed himself by the boulder. There was quite enough granite for one watcher to hide behind.

"Ugh!" he said. "Texan too much fire. Comanche find camp. Where Big Knife?"

It required eyes like his to detect, at that distance, a few faint sparks which had floated up above the trees and an exceedingly dull glow of light that was just then showing.

"Texan heap fool!" he exclaimed. "Great Bear come. Ugh!"

He hardly did his white chief justice, however, for Colonel Bowie was even then ordering the fire to be smothered as soon as the needful cooking could be done. There would be no more sparks nor any glow to betray the camp.

"Colonel," said Joe in reply, "it's all right, but we'd better jest lop down and snooze. Mebbe it's all the chance we'll git for a nap."

"Snooze away," said the colonel; but Jim Cheyne was looking around him, and he suddenly exclaimed,--

"I say! What's become of that thar old tiger? He didn't go off with the Lipan cub."

"No," said Joe. "That he didn't. He was 'round yer chawin' bufler meat not five minutes ago. I heerd him say something 'bout his mule----"

"Mule's gone," came from a ranger who had stepped away to look for him.

"Tell ye what, boys, that thar old rascal's gone back on us."

"I reckon not," replied Bowie, after a moment of consideration. "He hasn't gone to Great Bear, but we shan't see him again till we get to the Hacienda Dolores. Red Wolf's gone scouting."

"That's his best hold," said Joe. "Glad he went; but they'll get him if he doesn't watch out sharp."

That was precisely what he was doing, as he crouched behind the boulder, almost as motionless and silent as the stone itself.

CHAPTER IX.

THE SKIRMISH IN THE NIGHT.

The great gate stockade at the southeastern corner of the Alamo, near the church, was closed. There seemed to be no patrol outside of the wall and all was quiet within, but a solitary sentry paced to and fro at the gate, with his rifle over his shoulder. He was considering the situation as he walked, for he remarked, as if to the shadows around him,--

"This yer fort is pretty much taking ker of itself, but the Greasers don't know it. Thar ain't any of 'em nigh enough to come for it, anyhow. Ef they did, what thar is of us could give up this 'ere outside cattle-pen and retreat into the fort. We'd hev to give up the church, but we could garrison the Convent till help got yer. That's all we could do."

At that moment his rifle came down, for he heard a sound of hoofs that ceased in front of the gate. Out went the muzzle of his piece at a shot-hole, and he looked along its barrel as he demanded of the rider,--

"Who goes thar?"

"Sam Houston!" came loudly back. "Open quick! I'm followed!"

"Boys!" yelled the sentry. "It's old Sam himself! Come on! I'll git the gate open!"

"I met Crockett!" shouted Houston. "He's all right. But I've about ridden this horse to death. Down he goes! They're coming! Lancers!"

Several pairs of hands were busy with the ma.s.sive bars of the portal, and two of the men had stationed themselves by the six-pounder gun that stood there, facing it, like an iron watchman.

Outside, the general stood by his fallen horse, calm and steady as a tree, with a heavy pistol in each hand.

"I've barely distanced them," he said. "Ready, boys! Give 'em something!"

Excepting for the sound of their horses' hoofs Houston's pursuers were making no noise, but they were now dangerously near him.

Open swung the gate, and the men who opened it could see the glitter of lance-heads in the moonlight.

"Step in, gineral!"

"Jump now! Git out o' the way!"