The Quest of the Four Part 26

"I hope this isn't the best Mexico has to show," he said.

"It isn't very inviting," said Bill Breakstone, "you wouldn't look around here for a Forest of Arden or a Vale of Vallombrosa, but this is only the introduction to Mexico. Monterey, which General Taylor took, is a fine city, and so are others farther down. I've seen a lot of them myself. Don't you worry, Phil, you'll find enough to interest you before you get through."

They also picked up some wandering scouts and hunters, who joined them in their march. Several of these brought news. Taylor was at Saltillo, and his force was small. The Mexicans were raiding to the very outskirts of the city, and they looked upon Taylor's army as already destroyed. The American force of about four thousand five hundred men contained less than five hundred regular troops. The others, although good material, were raw volunteers, very few of whom had been under fire.

Phil saw Middleton and Edgeworth talking together very anxiously, and he knew that they were full of apprehensions. It seemed as if Fate itself were playing into the hands of Santa Anna. Occasionally they saw bands of Mexican guerillas hovering on the horizon, but they did not bother with them, keeping straight on for Taylor and Saltillo. The cold still increased, both day and night, and the winds that came from the peaks of the Sierra Madre, now plainly in view, cut to the bone. Phil was glad to take to the wagons for sleep, and to wrap himself in double blankets.

It was now well into December, but in two more days they expected to reach Taylor at Saltillo.

The last day of the march came, and every heart in the train beat high with expectancy. Even the army officers, Middleton and Edgeworth, trained to suppression of their emotions, could not restrain their eagerness, and they, with Woodfall and others, rode on ahead of the train. Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg were in this little group, but the three were at the rear.

"Phil, you were right when you called it a strange looking land," said Bill Breakstone, "and I'm of the opinion that we're going to see strange things in it. Our military friends look none too happy, and as I've eyes and ears of my own I know we're likely to have lively times after Christmas. Did you know that Christmas was not far away, Phil?"

"No, I had forgotten all about it," replied Phil, "but, since you mention it, I remember that it is December. Ah, what is that s.h.i.+ning in the sun straight ahead of us, Bill?"

He pointed with his finger and showed the faintest red tint under the horizon.

"That," replied Breakstone, "is a red tile roof on a house in Saltillo, and you're the first to see the town. Good eye, my boy. Now, the others have seen it, also! Look how they quicken the steps of their horses!"

They broke into a gallop as they came into a shallow, pleasant valley, with green gra.s.s, the Northern palms, clear, flowing water, and many a neat stone house with its piazzas and patios. The domes of several fine churches rose into view, and then men in uniforms, rifle in hand, stood across the road. Phil knew their faces; these men were never bred in Mexico. Brown they were with the wind and sun of many days, but the features beneath the brown were those of the Anglo-Saxons, the Americans of the North, his own people.

"Halt!" came the sharp order from the commander of the patrol.

Middleton replied for them all, but, as Phil rode past, he leaned over and said to the bronzed leader of the patrol:

"I'm here, Jim Harrington. I told you in Paris that I was coming to Mexico. It's a long road, and you're ahead of me, but I'm here."

The leader, a thick-set, powerful man of fifty-five, looked up in amazement. At first he had not recognized Phil under his tan and layer of dust, but now he knew his voice.

"Phil Bedford, by all that's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "I didn't think that you and I would ever meet in Mexico, but when the call came I couldn't keep away!"

Then he lowered his tone and asked:

"Any news of John?"

Phil shook his head sadly.

"Not a thing," he replied, "but I'm going to find him!"

"I believe you will," said Harrington, "but your search is going to be delayed, Phil. You'll have to wait for something else that none of us will ever forget. But, Phil, you've landed among friends. Lots of the boys that you used to know in Paris and around there are here."

As Phil rode on, the truth of Harrington's words was confirmed. Tan and dust did not keep strong, hearty voices from hailing him.

"Hey, you, Phil Bedford, where did you come from?"

"Is that old Phil Bedford? Did he drop from the clouds?"

"Here, Phil, shake hands with an old friend!"

He saw more than a score of familiar faces. A number of these soldiers were almost as young as himself, and two or three of them were related to him by blood. He had a great sensation of home, an overpowering feeling of delight. Despite strangeness and distance, old friends and kindred were around him. But old friends did not make him forget his new friends, or think any less of them. He introduced Middleton, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg. Middleton was compelled to hurry to General Taylor with his report, but the other two remained and affiliated thoroughly.

"You camp with us," said d.i.c.k Grayson, a distant cousin of Phil's.

"We've got a fine place over here, just back of the plaza. Lots of Kentuckians here, Phil--in fact, more from our state than any other.

The rest are mostly from Illinois, Indiana, Arkansas, Mississippi, and Louisiana. We haven't got many regulars, but we've got mighty good artillery, and we're ready to give a good account of ourselves against anybody. You ought to see old Rough and Ready. He's as grim as you please. Just as soon bite a ten-penny nail in two as not. Mad clean through, and I don't blame him, because he's been robbed to strengthen Scott."

Phil and his comrades went readily with Grayson. The wagon train was already scattering through the encampment, the volunteers taking their places here and there, while Woodfall and his a.s.sociates were arranging for the sale of their available supplies. Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg owned their horses, and, leading them with the bridles over their arms, they walked along with their new friends. Phil noticed that the town was well built in the Mexican style, with many handsome houses and signs of prosperity. The American invaders had harmed nothing, but their encampment was spread throughout the city.

The group walked by a green little park in which a small fountain was playing. A young Mexican in sombrero, gaudy jacket and trousers sat on a stone bench and idly thrummed a guitar. Several thick-set Mexican women, balancing on their heads heavy jars of water, pa.s.sed placidly by.

A small train of burros loaded with wool walked down another street.

There was nothing save the presence of the soldiers to tell of war. It all looked like play. Phil spoke of the peaceful appearance of everything to d.i.c.k Grayson. Grayson shrugged his shoulders.

"You cannot tell a thing by its looks in this country," he said.

"Mexicans seem nearly always to be asleep, but, as a rule, they are not.

You don't see many men about, and it means that they are off with the guerillas, or that they've gone south to join Santa Anna. We haven't done any harm here. We've treated the people in Saltillo a good deal better than their own rulers often treat them, and we're friendly with the inhabitants, but Mexicans are bound to stand with Mexicans, just as Americans stand with Americans. It's natural, and I don't blame 'em for it."

"I'd wager that many a message is carried off to the enemy by these stolid looking women," said Bill Breakstone.

Yet the town itself showed little hostility. Nevertheless, Phil could not keep from feeling that it was thoroughly the enemy of the invader, as was natural. As Bill Breakstone truly said, information concerning the Americans was certainly sent to the Mexican leaders. Everything that the Americans might do in the town would quickly become known to the enemy, while a veil always hung before the Mexican troops and preparations. Nevertheless, the life of the city, save for the reduction in the number of its adult inhabitants, went on as usual.

Some of the officers occupied houses, but all the men and younger officers were in tents, either in the open places of the town or on the outskirts. Phil, Arenberg, and Breakstone spent that night with d.i.c.k Grayson and others in a little park, where about twenty tents stood.

These were to be their regular quarters for the present, and, as Middleton had foreseen, the reinforcement was welcomed eagerly. They ate an abundant supper, and, the night being cold, afire was built within the ring of the tents. Here they sat and talked. Besides d.i.c.k Grayson, there were "Tobe" Wentworth, Elijah Jones, Sam Parsons, and other old friends of Phil.

As they sat before the cheerful blaze and put their blankets over their backs to s.h.i.+eld themselves from the bitter mountain winds, they discussed the war and, after the manner of young troopers, settled it, every one in his own way and to his own perfect satisfaction. "Tobe"

Wentworth was not an educated youth, but he was a great talker.

"I could a-planned this war," he said, "an' carried it right out without a break to a finish."

"Why didn't you do it, then?" asked d.i.c.k Grayson.

"I did think o' writin' to Was.h.i.+n'ton once," said Tobe calmly, "an'

tellin' them how it ought to be done, but I reckoned them old fellows would be mighty set in their ways an' wouldn't take it right. Old men don't like to be told by us youngsters that they don't know much."

"I've got a plan, too," said an Indiana youth named Forsythe.

"What is it?" asked Wentworth scornfully.

"It's a secret. I ain't ever goin' to tell it to anybody," said Forsythe. "I've drawed up my will, an' I've provided that when I die it's to be buried with me, still unread, folded right over my heart."

All laughed, but "Tobe" rejoined:

"Sech modesty is becomin' in Hoosiers, all the more so because it's the first time I ever knowed one of them to display it."

"Did you ever hear about that gentleman from Injiany that went out in the Kentucky Mountains once, drivin' a fine buggy?" asked Forsythe. "He noticed some big boys runnin' along behind him. He didn't think much of it at first, but they kept right behind him mile after mile, but sayin'

nothin' an' offerin' no harm. At last his curiosity got the better of him, an' he leaned back and asked: 'Boys, why are you followin' me this way?' Then the biggest of them boys, a long, lean fellow, bare-footed and with only one suspender, up and answers: 'Why, stranger, we reckoned we'd run behind an' see how long it would take for your hind wheels to ketch up with your front wheels.'"

"Tobe" Wentworth sat calm and unsmiling until the laughter died. Then he said:

"Any of you fellers know how the people of Injiany got the name of Hoosiers? No? Well, I'll tell you. It's so wild and rough over there, an' them people are so teetotally ignorant an' so full of curiosity that, whenever a gentleman from Kentucky crosses the Ohio and goes along one of their rough roads, up they pop everywhere, and call out to him: 'Who's yer?' meaning 'Who are you?' and that started the word Hoosier, which all over the world to-day means the people from Injiany."

When the second laugh died, Bill Breakstone rubbed his hands together.