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

by Joseph A. Altsheler

"Good," said Breakstone, and the others, also, approved. They were silent for awhile longer, enjoying their rest, and then Hans Arenberg spoke gravely:

"It iss likely," he said, "that the Comanches know of this lake, and that warriors in time may come here. We are sure that their bands went westward to avoid the American troops. Wherever there iss good water they will come sooner or later, and this water iss the best. It may be that it will pay us to stay here awhile and seek some clue."

"I think you're right," said Bill Breakstone, speaking for all the others. "We don't know just where we are going, and we've got to stop and catch hold to something somewhere. And, as you say, in this part of the world good water is bound to draw people."

Now that they were thoroughly refreshed they dressed and made a very careful inspection of the country. On all sides of "The Silver Cup" but the north the belt of wood was narrow, but northward it seemed to extend to a considerable distance. Looking from an elevation there, they were positive that the blue haze under the horizon meant mountains. There was timber as far as they could see in that direction, and this view confirmed them in their resolution to stay where they were for awhile.

They also took into account another consideration. It had been many months since the battle of Buena Vista. Much had happened since then, and the summer was waning. With winter approaching, it was more than likely that the Comanches would either hug the warm plains or return toward them. It was an additional reason why warriors might come to The Silver Cup. Such coming, of course, brought danger, but the likelihood of success increased with the danger.

They found a sheltered place on the north side of the lake, but about forty yards distant. It was a kind of rocky alcove, sloping down toward the water, with great trees growing very thickly on every side. They put their supplies in here and made beds of dry leaves. Just above them was a fine open space richly grassed, into which they turned the horses.

"Those four-footed friends of ours will be our sentinels to-night," said Bill Breakstone. "I don't think any creeping Comanche could pass them without an alarm being raised, and, as we all need rest, we'll leave the watching to them and take the chances."

They did not light any fire, but ate their supper cold, and quickly betook themselves to The Dip, as they called this shelter. There, wrapped in their blankets, they lay down on the soft beds of leaves, and deemed themselves fortunate. Phil could just see between two great tree-trunks a narrow strip of The Silver Cup, which flashing in the moonlight with a luminous glow, looked like a wonderful gem. The water rippled and moved softly. Beyond was the fringe of trees, and beyond that the vast blue sky with a host of friendly stars. Then Phil fell into the sleep of the just, and so did all his comrades. The only one of them who awoke in the night was Hans Arenberg. He looked at his friends, saw they were sleeping so soundly that they did not move, and he arose very gently. Then he stepped out of The Dip and walked down to the edge of The Silver Cup. There he stood looking at the waters which still shifted and moved like molten metal under the wind.

There was a spell upon Hans Arenberg that night. The soul of the old Teuton was alive within him, of the Teuton who lived in the great forests of Germany far back of the Christian era. It was his inheritance, like that of the Americans who, also, grew up in the shadow of the vast wilderness. The forest and lake were alive to him with the spirits of his primitive ancestors, but they were good spirits. They whispered in chorus that he, too, would succeed, and he began to whistle softly a quaint melody, some old German folk song that he had whistled to his boy. His mood grew upon him. All things were mystic. The seen were the unseen, and the things around him had no place. Even the lake vanished as he softly whistled the little melody, and it seemed to him after awhile that an answer to it came out of the forest, the same melody whistled more softly yet, and from childish lips. Arenberg knew that he was dreaming awake, but from that moment he never doubted.

He came from the spell, slipped back into The Dip, and was the first next morning to awake. But he built the fire and did all the cooking, and he was uncommonly cheerful, whistling at times a peculiar but beautiful melody that none of them had ever heard before.