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

by Joseph A. Altsheler

The Comanches were not a pleasant sight to eyes that did not wish to see them. They were powerful men, naked save for the waist cloth, their bodies painted with many strange symbols and figures. Although most of their tribe were yet armed with bows and arrows, each carried a fine rifle. Their faces were wary, cunning, and cruel. They were far more to be dreaded than wolf or panther. Yet Bill Breakstone at that moment felt but little fear of either. He was upheld by a great stimulus. The boy who slept so peacefully by his side had saved him in the face of everything, and, if the time had come, he would do as much for Phil. He felt himself, with the rifle and pistol, a match for both warriors, and his breathing was steady and regular.

The warriors stopped and stood in the bush, talking and pointing toward the east. Bill Breakstone surmised that they were talking about him and Phil, and it was likely from their pointing fingers that they believed the fugitives had gone toward the east. As Bill watched them, his suspense was mingled with a sort of curiosity. Would some instinct warn them that Phil and he lay not ten yards away? The woods were vast, and they and all their comrades could not search every spot. Would this be one of the spots over which they must pass?

It took two minutes to decide the question, and then the warriors walked on toward the east, their brown bodies disappearing in the foliage. Bill drew a mighty breath that came from every crevice and cranny of his lungs. He did not know until then how great his suspense had been. He sank back a little and let the rifle rest softly on the leaves beside him. He glanced at Phil. His face was less drawn now, and much of the color had come back. While Bill awaited the crisis, his finger on the trigger, the sleeping boy had grown stronger. Bill decided that he would let him sleep on.

Bill Breakstone had been through much. He, too, began to feel sleepy. The dangers of animal and man had come and passed, leaving his comrade and him untouched. His nerves were now subdued and relaxed, and he felt a great physical and mental peace. The day, too, was one calculated to soothe. The air was filled with; the mildness of early spring. A gentle wind blew, and the boughs and bushes rustled together, forming a sound that was strangely like a song of peace.

But Bill Breakstone was a man watchful, alert, a sentinel full of strength and resolution. He would not sleep, no, not he, not while so much depended upon him, yet the song among the leaves was growing sweeter and gentler all the time. He had never felt such a soothing quiet in all his life. The complete relaxation after so much danger and tension was at hand, and it was hard for one to watch the forest and be troubled about foes who would no longer come. Yet he would remain awake and keep faithful guard, and, as he murmured his resolution for the fifth time, his drooping eyelids shut down entirely, and he slept as soundly as the boy who lay by his side, his chest rising and falling as he breathed long and regularly.

Phil Bedford and Bill Breakstone slept all that afternoon. It was a mighty sleep, the great sleep following complete mental and physical exhaustion, the sleep that comes at such times to strong, healthy beings, in whom the co-ordination of brain, muscle, and nerve is complete. By some unconscious method of keeping time they breathed in perfect unison, and the gentle wind, which all the while was blowing through the leaves, kept time with them, too. Thus the evening shortened. Hour by hour dropped into the sandglass of time. The two, rivals of the ancient seven of famous memory, slept on. Both the wolf and the puma, driven by curiosity, came back. They crept a little nearer than before, but not too near. They felt instinctively that the mighty sleepers, mightily as they slept, could yet be awakened, and the smell of man contained a quality that was terrifying. So they went away, and, an hour after they were gone, the same two Comanches, naked to the waist, painted hideously in many symbols and decorations, and savage and cruel of countenance, came back in their places. But Bill Breakstone and Phil lay safe in the leaves under the bank, sleeping peacefully without dreams. So far as the Comanches were concerned, they were a thousand miles away, and presently the two warriors disappeared again in the depths of the forest, this time not to return.

Time went on. The two slept the great sleep so quietly that all the normal life of the woods about them was resumed. Woodpeckers drummed upon the sides of the hollow trees, a red bird in a flash of flame shot among the boughs, quail scuttled in the grass, and a rabbit hopped near. Midafternoon of a cloudless day came. The sun shot down its most brilliant beams, the whole forest was luminous with light. The Comanches ceased their search, confident that the fugitives were gone now beyond their overtaking, and returned to their villages and other enterprises, but Breakstone and Phil slept their great sleep.

Twilight came, and they were still sleeping. Neither had stirred an inch from his place. The little animals that hopped about in the thickets believed them dead, they were so quiet, and came nearer. Night came on, thick and dark. An owl in a tree hooted mournfully, and an owl in another tree a half mile away hooted a mournful answer. Phil and his comrade did not hear, because they still lay in their great sleep, and the doings of the world, great or small, did not concern them.

Phil awoke first. It was then about midnight, and so dark in the alcove that he could not see. His eyes still heavy with sleep and his senses confused, he sat up. He shook his head once or twice, and recollection began to come back. Surely the daylight had come when he went to sleep! And where was Bill Breakstone? He heard a regular breathing, and, reaching out his hands, touched the figure of his comrade. Both had slept, and no harm had come to them. That was evident because he also touched the rifle and pistol, and they would have been the first objects taken by a creeping enemy. But surely it could not have been a dream about his going to sleep in the daylight! He remembered very well that the sun was rising and that there were golden beams on the bushes. Now it was so dark that he could see only a few faint stars in the sky, and the bashful rim of a moon. He sat up and gave Bill Breakstone a vigorous shake.

"Bill," he said, "wake up! It's night, but what night I don't know!"