"Now, what in thunder did he mean?" exclaimed the astonished innkeeper.
"I think he meant just what he said," replied Phil. "He is going away from New Orleans. He certainly looked it."
So far as he knew, the assertion was true, because, as long as he remained in the city, he neither saw nor heard anything further of the Comanche. But the time for his own departure was soon at hand, and in the excitement of it he forgot all about the Comanche.
CHAPTER II
THE MARCH OF THE TRAIN
The train made an imposing appearance with its sixty wagons and its horsemen, numerous and well armed. It was commanded by a middle-aged trader of experience, Thomas Woodfall, who had already made several trips to Santa Fé, and the hopes of all were high. They carried, among other things, goods that the señoras and señoritas of Santa Fé would be eager to buy, and much gain might be obtained. But every one of the four who rode so closely together thought most in his heart of that for which he sought, and in no instance was the object of search the same.
But they were cheerful. Whatever were past griefs or whatever might be those to come, the present was propitious and fair. The Southern spring was not yet advanced far enough to drive the cool tang out of the air by daylight, while at night fires were needed. It rained but little, and they marched steadily on through crisp sunshine.
"I trust that the good Sir Roland is pleased," said Bill Breakstone to Phil. "Fresh air in the lungs of youth produces exhilaration."
"It's fine," said Phil, with emphasis.
"But we may yet come to our Pass of Roncesvalles. Bethink you of that, Sir Roland. They say that it's an ill wind that blows nobody good, and I say that it's a good wind that blows nobody ill. The rain will rain, the snow will snow, the wind will blow, and what will poor rabbit do then?"