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

by Joseph A. Altsheler

A roar that might easily have been called a shout of defiance came from the men of the train, when the story of the council was told. Then, with increased zeal, they fell to the work of girding up for the march and battle. The insolent demand of de Armijo added new fire to their courage. Cheerful voices arose, the rattle of bridle-bits, the occasional neigh of a horse, men singing snatches of song, generally lines from sentimental ballads, and the clink of bullets as they were counted and dropped into their pouches. Some of these sounds were of war, but Phil found the whole effect buoyant and encouraging. He caught the spirit, and whistled a lilting air as he, too, worked by the side of Bill Breakstone.

The boy soon saw the plan. Gradually the circle of wagons formed itself into two parallel lines, the noses of the horses or mules almost touching the rear of the wagon in front of them. Outside and on either side, but close to the wagons, rode the armed horsemen, two formidable lines, who, if hard pressed, could take refuge and shelter between the parallel rows of wagons. Moreover, the wagons handled by such cool and skillful men could be turned in a crisis, and even under fire, into a circle again, with the animals in the center. Phil understood the arrangement thoroughly, admired it tremendously, and was sure that the master mind of Middleton had directed everything. He glanced at the Mexicans and Comanches. They were still hovering in a great dark mass about a thousand yards away, and Phil knew that they were watching every movement of the Americans with the most intense curiosity.

Middleton and Woodfall rode to the head of the train. The loud command: "March!" was given. Every driver cracked his whip at the same time, the whole making a report like the sudden crash of many rifles, and the train began to move slowly across the plain, every armed man on either side holding his finger on the trigger of his rifle.

Phil was just behind Bill Breakstone, and both of them looked back at the enemy. Phil wondered what the Mexicans and Comanches would do, but he did not believe they would allow the train to depart unmolested, despite the fact that their face had already been well burned. He saw the hostile columns advance at about an even pace with the train, but he judged that there was uncertainty in their ranks. The Americans bore a certain resemblance to a modern armored train, and such men as de Armijo, Black Panther, and Santana were wary, despite their great excess of numbers.

The train moved forward at a slow but steady pace, but now its head was turned almost due south instead of west. Before them rolled the plains as usual, green with a grass not yet dried by the summer suns. Here and there appeared strange flowering shrubs, peculiar to the Texas uplands, but no trees broke the view. The plains rolled away until they died under the horizon of reddish gold that seemed an interminable distance away. There was little sound now but that of the turning wheels, the creaking of the axles, and the hoofbeats of many scores of horses and mules. The men were almost completely silent, and this silence, in itself, was strange, because the very atmosphere was impregnated with war. At any moment they might be in deadly conflict; yet they rode on, saying nothing.

Behind them came the Mexicans and Comanches in a double column, preserving the same distance of about a thousand yards, they, too, riding in silence, save for their hoofbeats. The dead evidently had been left as they fell or put in hasty graves, while the wounded were carried on horses in the rear. Phil looked back again and again at this singular pursuit, which, for the present, seemed no pursuit at all--at least, not hostile. It reminded him of the silent but tenacious manner in which wolves followed a great deer. While fearing his antlers and sharp hoofs, they would hang on and hang on, and in the end would drag down the quarry. Would that be the fate of the train?

"It's pretty good country for traveling," said Bill Breakstone cheerily, "and I don't see that anything is interrupting us. Except that we pass over one swell after another, the road is smooth and easy. What fine grassy plains these are, Phil, and look! yonder are antelopes grazing to the north of us. They've raised their heads to see, if they can, what we are, and what is that crowd behind us. They're just eaten up with curiosity."

Phil saw the herd of antelope come nearer. They were on a swell, in black silhouette against a red sun, and they were exaggerated to three or four times their real size. Phil was something of a philosopher, and he reflected that they were safe in the presence of so many men, because the men were not seeking game, but one another. The train moved on, and the herd of antelope dropped behind and out of sight. Still there was no demonstration from the enemy, who yet came on, in two columns, at the same distance of about a thousand yards, the sunlight gleaming on the lances of both Mexicans and Comanches. It began to seem to Phil as if they would always continue thus. Nevertheless, it was hard on the nerves, this incessant watching, as if one were guarding against a beast that might spring at any moment. Moreover, their force looked so large. But Phil glanced at the long-barreled rifles that the men of the train carried. They had proved far more than a match for muskets and lances.

"Will they attack us?" he asked Arenberg.

"Much harm iss meant," replied the German, "but they will not seek to do it until they think they see a chance. It iss time only that will tell."