Meantime, leaving the Mexican mountains and the alkali desert of the plateau behind them, they came to the Rio Grande, though farther west than their first passage. Here they stopped and looked awhile at the stream, a large volume of water flowing in its wide channel of sand. Phil felt emotion. Many and great events had happened since he saw that water flowing by the year before, and the miracle for which he hoped had been accomplished. To-day they were upon a quest other than his own, but they pursued it with an equal zeal, and he believed that all the omens and presages were in their favor.
They found a safe passage through the sandy approaches, swam the river upon their horses, and stood once more upon the soil of Texas. Phil felt that they would have little more to do with Mexicans, but that they must dare the formidable power of the Comanches, which now lay before them.
They camped that night in chaparral, where they were well concealed and built no fire. The weather was quite warm again, save for those sudden but usually brief changes of temperature that often occur in West Texas. But there was no sign of storm in the air, and they felt that their blankets would be sufficient for the night--however hot the day might be, the nights were always cool. Bill Breakstone had first beaten up the chaparral for rattlesnakes, and, feeling safe from any unpleasant interruption from that source, they spread out their blankets and lay comfortably upon them while they discussed the plan of their further march.
They felt quite sure that, with the passage of American troops south, the Comanches had gone far to the westward. The Indians had already suffered too much from these formidable invaders to oppose their southward march. Besides, they had received definite information that both Santana and Black Panther with their bands had gone almost to the border of New Mexico. The sole question with the four was whether to search over a wide belt of territory at once, or to go straight westward until they struck the Rio Grande again.
"I favor the long trip before we begin the hunt," said Bill Breakstone. "The chances are all in favor of the Comanches being out there. The buffalo herds, which will soon be drifting southward, are thickest in that part of the country."
Breakstone's logic seemed good to the others, and the next morning they began the long march through a region mostly bare but full of interest for them all. They passed a river which flowed for many miles on a bed of sand a half mile wide, and this sand everywhere was thick with salt. From the bluffs farther back salt springs gushed forth and flowed down to the river.
Then they came upon the southern edge of the Great Staked Plain of Texas, known long ago to the Spaniards and Mexicans as the Llano Estacado. John Bedford, who was a little in advance, was the first to see the southern belt of timber. It had been discovered very soon that John's eyes were the keenest of them all. He believed himself that they had been strengthened by his long staring through the loophole at the castle in order to make out every detail of his little landscape on the far mountainside. Now he saw a faint dark line running along the horizon until it passed out of sight both to east and west. He called Breakstone's attention to it at once, and the wise Bill soon announced that it was the southern belt of the Cross Timbers, the two parallel strips of forest growing out of an otherwise treeless country which for hundreds of miles enclose a vast plain.
"It's the first belt," said Bill Breakstone, "and, while it's not as near as it looks, we're covering ground pretty fast, and we'll strike the timber before nightfall. How good it looks to see forest again."
Even the horses seemed to understand, as they raised their heads, neighed, and then, without any urging from their masters, increased their pace. Phil rode up by the side of his brother John, and watched the belt of timber rise from the plain. He had often heard of this strange feature of the Texas wilds, but he had never expected to see it.
A little before nightfall they rode out of a plain, perfectly bare behind them for hundreds of miles, into the timber, which grew up in an arid country without any apparent cause, watered by no rivers or creeks and by no melting snows from mountains. Phil and John looked around with the greatest interest. The timber was of oak, ash, and other varieties common in the Southwest, but the oak predominated. The trees were not of great size, but they were trees, and they looked magnificent after the sparse cottonwoods and bushes along the shallow prairie streams that they had passed.