The Quest of the Four Part 42

Phil was willing. He was so full of the story himself that he was anxious John should hear it all. He recounted how the letter had reached him at Paris in Kentucky, his journey to New Orleans, and his successive meetings there with Arenberg, Middleton, and Bill Breakstone; how they had joined the Santa Fe train and their encounter with the Comanches, led by Santana and Black Panther, the deeds of de Armijo, their long trail southward to join Taylor's army, and a description, as far as he saw it amid the flame and smoke, of the great battle of Buena Vista. He told of the sharp lava, the pa.s.s, and of the woman at the well who had given the cup of water to the weary prisoner who was but a boy.

"I remember her, I remember her well," said John, a thrill of grat.i.tude showing in his tone. "I believe I'd have died if it hadn't been for that water, the finest that anybody ever tasted. I knew from the voice that it was a woman."

"We felt sure then," continued Phil, "that we were on the right trail, and we believed that, with patience and method, we'd be sure to find you if you were living. We knew that the letter had been brought to the Texas frontier by Antonio Vaquez, a driver who had received it in turn from one Porfirio, a vaquero, and we knew from your letter that you were confined in some great stone prison or castle. We learned of Montevideo, which is perhaps the greatest castle in Mexico, and everything pointed to it as the place.

"The Mexican army retreated in great haste southward after Buena Vista, in order to meet Scott, who was advancing on Mexico by the way of Vera Cruz. That left the country comparatively clear for us, and we came through the mountains, until we saw the Castle of Montevideo. When we saw it, we believed still more strongly that this was the place, but we knew that the biggest part of our work was before us. We would have to spy, and spy, and keep on spying before we could act. Any mule driver or sheepherder might carry news of us, and we must have a secure hiding-place as a basis. After a long search we found this cabin, which I don't think had been occupied for several years. We soon fixed it up so it was comfortable, as you can now see. There's a little spring at the west edge of the cove, and on the other side of the ridge there's a little valley with water and gra.s.s, but with walls so steep that a horse won't climb 'em unless he's led. Our horses are there now, having perhaps the best time of their lives.

"When we were located, good and snug, we began to spy. I believed after we met the woman at the well that fortune was favoring us. Arenberg here talked a lot about the spirits of the forest and the stream, some old heathen mythology of his, to which Bill and I didn't pay any attention. But anyway, we had luck. We scouted about the castle for weeks, but we didn't learn a thing, except that de Armijo was now governor there. We could find no more trace of you than if you had been on the moon.

"At last our lucky day came. We ran squarely upon a good-looking young Mexican, a vaquero. There wasn't time for us to get away or for him to get away. So we, being the more numerous, seized him. I suppose he thought he was going to be killed at once, as we were Americans, looking pretty tough from exposure and hards.h.i.+ps, and so to make a play on our good feelings--Bill Breakstone could understand his Spanish--he said that once he'd tried to help a Gringo, a prisoner, in the great castle in the valley. He said he'd carried a letter from him, asking for help, and that the prisoner was not much more than a boy, taken in a raid from Texas three years ago.

"It flashed over us all at once that we had found the right man.

Everything fitted too well together to permit of a mistake, and you can believe that we treated Porfirio, the vaquero, the finest we knew how, and made him feel that he had fallen into the hands of the best friends in the world. Were you still alive? We waited without drawing breath for the answer. You were still alive he answered, and well, so far as a prisoner could be. He knew that positively from his mother, Catarina, who was a cook at the castle, although he himself would not stay there, as, like a sensible man, he liked the mountains and the plains and the free life. He did not tell us of the blow that de Armijo had given you, perhaps because Catarina had said nothing of it to him, but we learned that he hated de Armijo, who had once struck him when he was at the castle, for some trifle or other--it seems that de Armijo had the striking habit--and after that we soon made our little plot. Catarina, of course, was the center of it, and her duties as a cook gave her the chance.

"It was Catarina who put the thread in the tamale. She might have put the letter there, but the writing on it would have been effaced, and even if it could have remained she did not dare. If the paper had been discovered by the Mexicans, she, of course, would have been declared guilty, but thread, even a package of it, might have found its way into the loose Mexican cooking, and if it had been discovered none of the sentinels or officers could have made anything out of such a slender thing. We trusted to your shrewdness that you would drop the thread out of the window, because there was nothing else to do with it, and you didn't fail us."

"But who tied the note on it?" asked John.

"Catarina, again--that is, she was at the end of the chain, Porfirio was in the middle, and we were at the other or far end. He pa.s.sed the letter in to her--he works about the castle at times--and she tied it on the end of the thread. The key and the dagger reached you by the same route. Then we knew that, although you might unlock the door of your cell, you could never go outside the castle without the aid of some one within. For that reason we told you the night on which to unlock it, and the very hour, in order that the right man might be waiting for you at the head of the stairway. Bill Breakstone had to be that man, because he can speak Spanish and the Mexican dialects, and because, lucky for you, he's been an actor; often to amuse others he has played parts like the one that he played last night in such deadly earnest.

"Catarina got the keys--there are duplicates to all the cells--so we sent that up early, and on the day before your escape she stole the one to the big gate that guards the stairway. It was easy enough to steal the clothes for Breakstone, take him in as a servant, and his nerve and yours did the rest. But we must never forget Catarina and her son Porfirio, the vaquero. Without them we could have done nothing."

"I'm prouder of it than of any other thing in which I ever took part,"

said Bill Breakstone.

"It was not one miracle, it was a chain of them," said John Bedford.

"Whatever it was, here we all are," said Phil.

CHAPTER XIX

ARENBERG'S QUEST

It was necessary for several reasons to remain some days in the cove.

John Bedford's strength must be restored. After the long confinement and the great excitement of his escape, he suffered from a little fever, and it was deemed best that he should lie quiet in the cabin. Phil stayed with him most of the time, while Breakstone and Arenberg hunted cautiously among the mountains, bringing in several deer. They incurred little risk in their pursuit, because the mountaineers, few in number at any time, were all drawn off by the war.

John had a splendid const.i.tution, and, with this as a basis, good and abundant food and the delight of being free built him up very fast. On the fourth day Bill Breakstone came in with news received through the Porfirio-Catarina telegraph that the escape of John had caused a great stir at the castle. n.o.body could account for it, and n.o.body was suspected. De Armijo was suffering from a very painful wound in the face, and would leave on the following day for the capital to receive surgical treatment.

"I'm going to see Porfirio for the last time to-morrow," said Breakstone, "and as we have some gold left among us, I suggest that we make a purse of half of it and give it to him. Money can't repay him and his mother for all they've done, but it may serve as an instalment."

All were willing, and Breakstone departed with a hundred dollars. He reported on the day following that Porfirio had received it with great grat.i.tude, and that, as they were now rich, he and his mother were going to buy a little house of their own among the hills.

"And now," said Breakstone, "as John here has been gaining about five pounds a day, and is as frisky as a two year old just turned out to pasture, I think we'd better start."

It was late in the afternoon when he said these words, and they were all present in the cabin. Three pairs of eyes turned toward Arenberg. A sigh swelled the chest of the German, but he checked it at the lips.

Without saying a word he drew a little packet from the inside of his waistcoat and handed it to Phil, who was nearest.

Phil looked at it long and attentively. It was the portrait of a little boy, about seven, with yellow hair and blue eyes, a fair little lad who looked out from the picture with eyes of mirth and confidence. The resemblance to Arenberg was unmistakable. Phil pa.s.sed it to Breakstone, who, after a look, pa.s.sed it on to John, who in his turn, after a similar look, gave it back to Arenberg.

"Your boy?" said Breakstone.

Arenberg nodded. The others, sympathetic and feeling that they were in the presence of a great grief, waited until he should choose to speak.

"It iss the picture of my boy," said Arenberg at last. "Hiss name is William--Billy we called him. I came to this country and settled in Texas, which was then a part of Mexico. I married an American girl, and this iss our boy. We lived at New Braunfels in Texas with the people from Germany. She died. Perhaps it iss as well that she did. It sounds strange to hear me say it, but it iss true. The Comanches came, they surprised and raided the town, they killed many, and they carried away many women and children. Ah, the poor women who have never been heard of again! My little boy was among those carried off. I fought, I was wounded three times, I was in a delirium for days afterward.

"As soon as I could ride a horse again I tried to follow the Comanches.

They had gone to the Northwest, and I was sure that they had not killed Billy. They take such little boys and turn them into savage warriors, training them through the years. I followed alone toward the western Comanche villages for a long time, and then I lost the trail. I searched again and again. I nearly died of thirst in the desert; another time only luck kept me from freezing in a Norther. I saw, alas!

that I could not do anything alone. I went all the way to New Orleans, whence, I learned, a great train for Santa Fe was going to start.

Perhaps among the fearless spirits that gather for such an expedition I could find friends who would help me in my hunt. I have found them."

Arenberg stopped, his tale told, his chest heaving with emotion, but no word pa.s.sing his lips. Bill Breakstone was the first to speak.

"Hans," he said, "you have had to turn aside from your quest to help in Phil's, which is now finished, and you have done a big part; now we swear one and all to help you to the extent of our lives in yours, and here's my hand on it."

He solemnly gave his hand to Arenberg, who gave it a convulsive grasp in his own big palm. Phil and John pledged their faith in the same manner, and moisture dimmed Arenberg's honest eyes.

"It will be all right, Hans, old man," said Breakstone. "We'll get your boy sure. About how old is he now?"

"Ten."

"Then the Comanches have certainly adopted him. They'd take a boy at just about the age he was captured, six or seven, because he would soon be old enough to ride and take care of himself, and he's not too old to forget all about his white life and to become a thorough Indian. That logic is good. You can rely on it, Hans."

"It iss so! I feel it iss so!" said Arenberg. "I feel that my boy iss out there somewhere with the Comanche riders, and that we will find him."

"Of course we will," said Breakstone cheerfully. "Phil, you see that a place is registered in this company for one William Arenberg, blue eyes, light hair, fair complexion, age ten years. Meanwhile I want to tell you, John Bedford, that we were so certain of getting you, in spite of the impossible, that we brought along an extra rifle, pistol, and ammunition, and that we also have a horse for you over in the valley with the others."

"It's like all that you have done for me," said John, "thorough and complete."

They went over into the valley the next day, saddled and bridled the horses, and, well provided with food and ammunition, started for the vast plains of Northwestern Texas, on what would have seemed to others a hopeless quest, distance and s.p.a.ce alike were so great. When they came out upon one of the early ridges John had a sudden and distinct view of the Castle of Montevideo lying below, honey-colored, huge, and threatening. A shudder that had in it an actual tinge of physical pain pa.s.sed through him. One cannot forget in a moment three years between stone walls. But the shudder was quickly gone, and, in its place, came a thrill of pure joy. Freedom, freedom itself, irrespective of all other good things, still sparkled so gloriously in his veins that it alone could make him wholly happy.

They rode on over the ridge. John looked back. The Castle of Montevideo was shut from his view now forever, although he never ceased to remember the minutest detail of Cell 87 and the little patch of mountainside that could be seen from the deep loophole of a window.

But they were all joyous, Phil because he had found and rescued his brother, John because he had been found and rescued, Bill Breakstone because he had helped in great deeds ending in triumph, and Hans Arenberg because they were now engaged upon his own quest, the quest that lay next to his heart, and these comrades of his were the best and most loyal that a man could ever have for such a service. Three or four years rolled away from Hans Arenberg, the blue eyes grew brighter, the pink in his cheeks deepened, and Phil, looking at him, saw that he was really a young man. Before, he had always made upon his mind the impression of middle age.

They rode steadily toward the northwest for many days without serious adventure. Once or twice they encountered small bands of Mexican guerillas, with whom they exchanged distant shots without harm, but the war was now south of them, and soon they pa.s.sed entirely beyond its fringe, leaving the mountains also behind them. They met various American scouts and trappers, from whom they bought a couple of pack horses, two good rifles, and a large supply of fresh ammunition. It was explained by Bill Breakstone, who said:

"More than enough Merely makes weight, Leas than enough, You're doomed by fate."

The two extra horses were trained to follow, and they caused no trouble.

They carried the supplies of spare arms and ammunition and also of dried venison for the intervals in which they might find no game. They also found it wise to take skin bags of water, buying the bags at a village occupied by American troops, which they pa.s.sed. They found Northern Mexico almost at peace. Resistance to the Americans there had ceased practically, and in the towns buying and selling, living and dying went on as usual. They had nothing to guard against but sudden ambushes by little bands of guerillas, and they were now all so experienced and so skilled with the rifle that they feared no such trap.

It was wonderful at this time to watch John Bedford grow. He had already reached the stature and frame of a man, but when he came from the Castle of Montevideo he was a frame, and not much more. Now the flesh formed fast upon this frame, cords and knots of muscle grew upon his arms, his cheeks filled out, the prison pallor disappeared and gave way to a fine healthy brown, the creation of the Southern sun, his breath came deep and regular from strong lungs, and he duly notified Bill Breakstone that within another month he would challenge him to a match at leaping, wrestling, jumping, boxing, or any other contest he wished. They had also bought good clothes for him at one of the villages, and he was now a stalwart young man, anxious to live intensely and to make up the three years that he had lost.