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

"Not a peep. We're marching in looser order now, because if they came we'd have ample time to form inbattle array after we saw them."

But no enemy appeared that day nor the next day, and they rode south for many days in peace. Althougheager to reach the Rio Grande as soon as possible, theywere too wise to hurry the animals. The steady, measured pace was never broken, and they took full rest atnight. They stopped sometimes to kill game and replenishtheir supplies of food. They found plenty of buffalo, and the most skillful of the hunters also secured all theantelope that they wished. Now and then they crossed ariver that contained fish, and they added to their storesfrom these, also.

They were now far into the summer, but the grass wasstill green, although the heat at times was great, andrain fell but seldom. The character of the vegetationchanged as they went south. Bill Breakstone defined itas an increase of thorns. The cactus stood up in strangeshapes on the plain, but along the banks of the creeksthey found many berries that were good to the taste.Four weeks after the turn to the south they met twomessengers coming from the direction of Santa Fé and boundfor the mouth of the Rio Grande. They were Americansoldiers in civilian dress whom Middleton knew, andwith whom it had evidently been a part of his plan tocommunicate. He received from them important news, over which he pondered long, but, some time after thetwo men had disappeared under the horizon to theeastward, he spoke of it to Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg.

"They have heard much," he said, "but it comeslargely through Mexican channels. It is said that anAmerican force from one of the Western States is movingon Santa Fé, and that it is likely to fall into our hands.It is said, also, that Taylor's advance into Mexico hasbeen stopped, and that another army under Scott is to goby sea to Vera Cruz, and thence attempt to capture theCity of Mexico. I don't know! I don't know what itall means! Can it be possible that Taylor has been beatenand driven back? But we shall see!"

"I know Taylor can't have been beaten," said Phil;"but I'll be mighty glad when we reach the Rio Grandeand find out for sure everything that is going on."

"That's so," said Bill Breakstone.

"News is contrary,But we'll go;Our views vary,But we'll know.

Although we'll have to wait a long time about it, asTexas runs on forever."

The tenor of the messages soon spread through thetrain, and increased the desire to push on; yet neitherMiddleton nor Woodfall deemed it wise to give theanimals too great a task for fear of breaking them down.Instead, they resolutely maintained their even pace, andbearing now to the eastward, still sought that Great Riverof the North which is greater in history and politicalimportance than it is in water.

The time, despite the anxieties that they all shared, was not unpleasant to Phil. He enjoyed the free life ofthe wilderness and the vast plains. He saw how menwere knitted together by common hardship and commondanger. He knew every man and liked them all; hence, all liked him. He could never meet one of them in afterlife without a throb of emotion, a sense of greatfellowship, and a sudden vivid picture of those days risingbefore him. He also learned many things that were ofvalue. He knew how to mend any part of a wagon, heunderstood the troubles of horses, and he could handle amule with a tact and skill that were almost uncanny.

"I suppose that mules, being by nature contraryanimals, like Phil," said Bill Breakstone. "I've alwaysbehaved decently toward them, but I never knew one yetto like me."

"You want to treat a mule not like an animal but likea human being," said Arenberg. "They know morethan most men, anyhow. It iss all in the way youapproach them. I know how it ought to be done, althoughI can't always do it."

Many such talks beguiled the way. Meanwhile Philcould fairly feel himself growing in size and strength, and he longed like the others for the sight of Taylor andhis army. The idea of taking part in a great war thrilledhim, and it might also help him in his search. Meanwhile, the summer waned, and they were still in Texas.It seemed that they might ride on forever and yet notreach that famous Rio Grande. The grass turned brownon the plains, the nights grew cooler, and two northerschilled them to the bone. Several times they sawComanches hovering like tiny black figures against thehorizon, but they never came near enough for a rifle shot.Twice they met hunters and scouts who confirmed theearlier news obtained from the two messengers from thewestward. Taylor, beyond a doubt, had halted ahundred and fifty or two hundred miles beyond the RioGrande. There was even a rumor that he had beencaptured. This might or might not be true, but there wasno doubt of the fact that an advance on the City ofMexico, due southward by land, was no longer intended.The report that Scott was to lead the army by way of VeraCruz was confirmed. Middleton was troubled greatly, asPhil could see.

"I don't like the looks of this," he confided to histhree most intimate associates, who, of course, were Phil,Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg. "I can't believe thatTaylor has been taken-he isn't that kind of a man-butthis stripping him of his forces to strengthen Scott willleave him almost unarmed before a powerful enemy."

Phil saw the cogency of his reasoning. Deeplypatriotic, his private motives could not rule him wholly inthe face of such an emergency. He longed with a mostintense longing now for a sight of the Rio Grande. Agreat battle often hung in such an even balance that a fewmen might turn the scale. The brave and resolute twohundred with the train were a force not to be despised, even where thousands were gathered. The leaders, alsofelt the impulse. Despite caution and calculation, thespeed of the train was increased. They started a littleearlier every morning, and they stopped a little laterevery evening. Yet there were delays. Once they hada smart skirmish with Mexican guerillas, and once aComanche force, which did little but distant firing, heldthem three days. Then a large number of their animals, spent by the long march, fell sick, and they werecompelled to delay again.

The summer waned and passed. The grass was quitedead above ground, although the roots flourished below.The cactus increased in quantity. Often it pointed longmelancholy arms southward as if to indicate thatmisfortune lay that way. The great silence settled about themagain. There were no Indians, no Mexicans, no scouts,no hunters. Phil's thoughts reverted to his originalquest. One day as he sat in the wagon he took the wornpaper from the inside pocket of his waistcoat and read itfor the thousandth time. He was about to hold it upand put it back in its resting place, when BillBreakstone, seeking an hour or so of rest, sprang into thewagon, also. It was Phil's first impulse to thrust thepaper quickly out of sight, and Bill Breakstone, withinnate delicacy, pretended not to see, merely settlinghimself, with a cheerful word or two, into a comfortable seat.But Phil's second thought was the exact opposite. Hewithheld his hand and opened the worn and soiled paper.

"This is a letter, Bill," he said, "and you've seen it."

"At a distance," replied Bill Breakstone with assumedcarelessness. "Too far for me to read a word of it.Love letter of yours, Phil? You're rather young for thatsort of thing. Still, I suppose I'll have to call you SirPhilip of the Lost Lady and the Broken Heart."

"It's not that," said Phil. "This letter tells why Icame into the Southwest. Somehow, I've wanted tokeep it to myself, but I don't now. Will you read it,Bill? It's hard to make out some of the words, but ifyou look close you can tell."

He reached out the worn piece of paper.

"Not unless you feel that you really want me to readit," said Breakstone.

"I really want you to do so," said Phil.

Breakstone took the paper in his hands and smoothedit out. Then he held it up to the light, because thewriting was faded and indistinct, and deciphered:

"I'm here, Phil, in this stone prison-it must besome sort of an old Spanish castle, I think, in theMexican mountains. We were blindfolded and we traveledfor days, so I can't tell you where I am. But I do knowthat we went upward and upward, and, when my shoeswore out, rocks sharp like steel cut into my feet. Wealso crossed many deep gulleys and ravines. I think wewent through a pass. Then we came down into groundmore nearly level. My feet were bleeding. We passedthrough a town and we stopped by a well. Then awoman gave me a cup of water. My throat was parchedwith dust. I knew it was a woman by her voice and herwords of pity, spoken in Mexican. Then we came here.I have been shut up in a cell. I don't know how long, because I've lost count of time. But I'm here, Phil, between four narrow walls, with a narrow window that looksout on a mountainside, where I can see scrub pines andthe thorny cactus. You're growing up now, Phil, andyou may be able to come with friends for me. There'sone here that's kind to me, the old woman who bringsme my food, and she's loaned me a pencil and paper towrite this. I've written the letter, and she's going tosmuggle it away somehow northward into Texas, and thenit may be passed on to you. I'm hoping, Phil, that itwill reach you, wherever you are. If it does I know thatyou will try to come. JOHN BEDFORD."

"Look on the other side," said Phil.

Bill Breakstone turned it over and read the inscription:

"To Philip Bedford, Esquire,

"Paris,

"Kentucky."

Tears stood in the boy's eyes, and his hands weretrembling. Breakstone waited quietly.

"As you see," said Phil, when he felt that his voicewas steady, "the letter came. It's my brother, John, who wrote it. A man riding across the country fromFrankfort gave it to me in Paris last year. Aflatboatman had brought it up the Kentucky River from itsmouth at the Ohio, and when he came to Frankfort heasked if anybody would take it to Paris. A dozen wereready to do it. The flatboatman-his name wasSimmons, a mountaineer-knew nothing about the letter.He said it had been given to him at the mouth of theOhio by a man on a steamer from New Orleans. Theother man said it had been dropped in front of him onhis table at an inn in New Orleans by a fellow who lookedlike a Mexican. He thought at first it was just a scrapof paper, but when he read it and looked around for theman, he was gone. He resolved to send the letter on tome if he could, but he doesn't know how many hands ithad passed through before it reached him. But it'sJohn's handwriting. I could never mistake it."

The boy's voice trembled now, and the tears rose inhis eyes again. Breakstone looked at the paper, turningit over and over.

"The old woman that your brother writes about wasfaithful," he said at last. "Likely a dozen men orwomen had it before it was dropped on that table in NewOrleans. What was your brother doing in Texas, Phil?"

"He was older than I, and he went to Texas to helpin the fighting against Mexico. You know there wereraids on both sides long after San Jacinto. Youremember the Mier expedition of the Texans, and there wereothers like it. John and his comrades were taken in oneof these, but I don't know exactly which. I have writtenletters to all the Texas officials, but none of them knowanything."

"And of course you started at once," said Bill Breakstone.

"Of course. There was nothing to keep me. Wewere only two, and I sold what we had, came down theKentucky into the Ohio, and then down the Mississippito New Orleans, where I met you and the others. I hadan idea that John had been carried westward, and that Imight learn something about him at Santa Fé, or at leastthat Santa Fé might be a good point from which toundertake a search. It's all guesswork anyway, that is, mostly, but when de Armijo told us that war had come Iwasn't altogether sorry, because I knew that would takeus down into Mexico, where I would have a better chanceto look for John. What do you think of it, Bill?"

"Let me look at the letter again," said Breakstone.

Phil handed it back to him, and he read and rereadit, turned it over and over again, looked at theinscription, "To Philip Bedford, Paris, Kentucky," and thentried to see writing where none was.

"It's the old business of a needle in a haystack,Phil," he said. "We're bound to confess that. Wedon't know where this letter was written nor when.Your brother, as he says, had lost count of time, but hemight have made a stagger at a date."

"If he had put down any," said Phil, "it was rubbedout before it reached me. But I don't think it likelythat he even made a guess. Do you know, Bill, I'mafraid that maybe, being shut up in a place like that, itmight, after a long time-well, touch his head just alittle. To be shut up in a cell all by yourself for a year, maybe two years, or even more, is a terrible thing, theysay."

"Don't think that! Don't think it!" said Bill Breakstonehastily. "The letter doesn't sound as if it werewritten by one who was getting just a little bit out oftune. Besides, I'm thinking it's a wonderful thing thatletter got to you."

"I've thought of that often, myself," exclaimed Phil,a sudden light shining in his eyes. "This is a message,a call for help. It comes out of nowhere, so to speak, out of a hidden stone castle or prison, and in some wayit reaches me, for whom it was intended. It seems to methat the chances were a million to one against its coming, but it came. It came! That's the wonderful, theunforgettable thing! It's an omen, Bill, an omen and a sign.If this little paper with the few words on it came to methrough stone walls and over thousands of miles, well, Ican go back with it to the one who sent it!"

His face was transfigured, and for the time absoluteconfidence shone in his eyes. Bill Breakstone, a man ofsympathetic heart, caught the enthusiasm.

"We'll find him, Phil! We'll find him," he exclaimed.

Philip Bedford, so long silent about this which laynearest to his heart, felt that a torrent of words wasrushing to his lips.

"I can't tell you, Bill," he said, "how I felt whenthat letter was handed to me. Jim Harrington, a farmerwho knew us, brought it over from Frankfort. He wason his horse when he met me coming down the street, andhe leaned over and handed it to me. Of course he hadread it, as it wasn't in an envelope, and he sat thereon his horse looking at me, while I read it, although Ididn't know that until afterward.

"Bill, I was so glad I couldn't speak for awhile.We hadn't heard from John in two or three years, and wewere all sure that he was dead. After I read the letterthrough, I just stood there, holding it out in my handand looking at it. Then I remember coming back toearth, when Jim Harrington leaned over to me from hissaddle and said: 'Phil, is it genuine?'

"'It's real,' I replied, 'I'd know his handwritinganywhere in the world.'

"'What are you going to do, Phil?' he asked.

"'I'm going to start for Mexico to-morrow,' I said.

"'It's a powerful risky undertaking,' he said.

"'I'm going to start for Mexico to-morrow,' I saidagain.

"Then from his height on the horse he put his handon my head for a moment and said: 'I knew you'd go,Phil. I know the breed. I was in the War of 1812 withyour father, when we were boys together. You're only aboy yourself, but you go to Mexico, and I believe you'llfind John.'

"So you see, Bill, even at the very start there was onewho believed that I would succeed."

"The signs do point that way," admitted Bill Breakstone."Every fact is against you, but feeling isn't.I've lived long enough, Phil, to know that the impossiblehappens sometimes, particularly when a fellow isstriving all his might and main to make it happen.What kind of a fellow was this brother of yours, Phil?"

"The finest in the world," replied Phil. "He raisedme, Bill, as they say up there in Kentucky. He is fouryears older than I am, and we were left orphans, young.He taught me about everything I know, helped me atschool, and then, when I got big enough, we made trapstogether, and in the fall and winter caught rabbits.Then I had a little gun, and he showed me how to shootsquirrels. We went fishing in the Kentucky often, andhe taught me to ride, too. He was big and strong.Although only a boy himself, he could throw anybody in allthe towns about there, but he was so good-natured aboutit that the men he threw liked him. Then we began tohear about Texas. Everybody was talking about Texas.Many were going there, too. It seemed to us the mostwonderful country on earth. John caught the fever. Hewas going to make fortunes for both of us. I don't knowhow, but he meant to do it. I wasn't big enough to gowith him, but he would send for me later. He went downthe river to New Orleans. I had a letter from himthere, and another from San Antonio, but nothing evercame after that until this dirty, greasy little piece ofpaper dropped out of the skies. It was four yearsbetween."

"Four years between!" repeated Bill Breakstone,"and we don't know what has happened in all that time.But it seems to me, Phil, that you're right. If this littlepiece of paper has come straight out of the dark thousandsof miles to you, then it's going to be a guide to usback to the place where it started, because, Phil, I'mgoing to help you in this. I've got a secret errand of myown, and I'm not going to tell it to you just yet, but itcan wait. I'm going to see you through, Phil, and we'regoing to find that brother John of yours, if we have to ripopen every prison in Mexico."

His own eyes were bright now with the light ofenthusiasm, and he held out his hand, which Phil seized.The fingers of the two were compressed in a strong clasp.

"It's mighty good of you, Bill," said the boy, "tohelp me, because this isn't going to be any easy search."

"It won't be any search at all for awhile," said BillBreakstone, "because a great war is shoving in between.We are approaching the Rio Grande now, Phil."

The summer was now gone, and they were well intoautumn. The train had come a great distance, moremiles than any of them could tell. Cool winds blewacross the Texas uplands, and the nights were often sharpwith cold. Then the fires of cottonwood, dry cactus, orbuffalo chips were very welcome, and it was pleasant tosit before them and speculate upon what awaited themon the other side of the Rio Grande. They had passedbeyond the domain of the Comanches, and they wereskirting along the edge of a country that containedscattered houses of adobe or log cabins-Mexicans in theformer, and Americans in the latter. These were notcombatants, but they were full of news and gossip.

There had been a revolution or something like it inMexico. The report of the American successes, at thebeginning, was true. Taylor had defeated greatlysuperior numbers along the Rio Grande, and, after a severebattle, had taken Monterey by storm. Then the Mexicans, wild with rage, partly at their own leaders, hadturned out Paredes, their president, and the famous SantaAnna had seized the power. Santa Anna, full of energyand Latin eloquence, was arousing the Mexican nationagainst invasion, and great numbers were gathering torepel the little American armies that had marched acrossthe vast wilderness to the Mexican border. This newsmade Middleton very serious, particularly that aboutSanta Anna.

"He's been called a charlatan, a trickster, cruel, unscrupulous, and many other things not good," he saidone evening as they sat about a fire, "and probably allthe charges are true, but at the same time he is a man ofgreat ability. He has intuition, the power to divine theplans of an opponent, something almost Napoleonic, andhe also has fire and energy. He will be a very dangerousman to us. He hates us all the more because the Texanstook him at San Jacinto. If I remember rightly, two boyslooking for stray mules found him hiding in the grassthe day after the battle, and brought him in a prisoner.Such a man as he is not likely to forget such ahumiliation as that."

"I have seen him with my own eyes," said Arenberg."He iss a cruel man but an able one. Much harm issmeant, and much may be done."

That ended the German's comment, and, taking hispipe, he smoked and listened. But his face, lighted upby the flames, was sad. It was habitually sad, althoughPhil believed that the man was by nature cheery andoptimistic. But Arenberg still kept his secret.

They learned, also, that there had been an armisticebetween the Americans and the Mexicans, but that SantaAnna had used all the time for preparations. Then thenegotiations were broken off, and the war was to pass intoa newer and fiercer phase. Taylor was at Saltillo, abouttwo hundred miles beyond the line, but Scott, who hadbeen on the Rio Grande some time earlier, had takenmost of his good officers and troops for the invasion byway of Vera Cruz, and Taylor, with his small remainingforce, was expected to stand on the defensive, evento retreat to the Rio Grande. Instead of that, he hadadvanced boldly into the mountains. Politics, it wassaid, had intervened, and Taylor was to be shelved.Middleton, usually reserved, commented on this to Phil,Breakstone, and Arenberg, who, he knew, would notrepeat his words.

"I've no doubt that this news is true," he said, "andit must be a bitter blow to old Rough and Ready-that'swhat we call Taylor in the army. He's served all his lifewith zeal and efficiency, and now he's to be put aside, after beginning a successful and glorious campaign. It'sa great wrong that they're doing to Zachary Taylor."

"But we're going to join him anyhow, are we not?"asked Phil.

"Yes, that's our objective. I should have to do so, because my original instructions were to report to him, and they have not been changed. And, with Santa Annaleading the Mexicans, what our Government expects tohappen at one place may happen at another."

The train itself was now in splendid condition. Allthe wounded men had fully recovered. The sick horsesand mules were well again. The weather had been good, game was plentiful, their diet was varied and excellent, and there was no illness. Moreover, their zeal increasedas they drew near the seat of war, and the reports, sometrue, some false, and all lurid, came thick and fast. Itwas hard to keep some of them from leaving the trainand going on ahead, but Middleton and Woodfall, bystrenuous efforts, held them in hand.

They shifted back now toward the east, and came atlast to the Rio Grande. Phil was riding ahead of thetrain, when he caught the first view of it-low banks, animmense channel, mostly of sand, with water, lookingyellow and dangerous, flowing here and there in two orthree streams. The banks were fringed but sparsely withtrees, and beyond lay Mexico, the Mexico of Cortez andthe Aztecs, the Mexico of gold and romance, and theMexico of the lost one whom he had come so far to find.

It was one of the most momentous events in PhilipBedford's life, this view of Mexico, to which he had comeover such a long trail. It was not beautiful, there acrossthe Rio Grande; it was bare, dark, and dusty, withrolling hills and the suggestion of mountains far off to theright. The scant foliage was deep in autumn brown.Human life there was none. Nothing stirred in the vastexpanse of desolation. The train was so far behind himthat he did not hear the rumbling of the wagon wheels, and he sat there, horse and rider alike motionless, gazinginto the misty depths of this Mexico which held so muchof mystery and which attracted and repelled at the sametime. Question after question throbbed through hismind. Would the Americans succeed in penetrating themountains that lay beyond? And if so, in whatdirection was he to go? Which way should he look! Itseemed so vast, so inscrutable, that he was appalled.For the first time since he had left that little Paris inKentucky he felt despair. Such a search as his washopeless, doomed in the beginning. His face turnedgray, his chin sank upon his chest, but then BillBreakstone rode up beside him, and his loud, cheery voicesounded in his ear.

"Well, here we are at last, Phil," he exclaimed."We've ridden all the way across Texas, and it musthave been a hundred thousand miles. Now we stand, orrather sit, on the shores of the Rio Grande.

"Behold the river!But I don't quiver.They call it grand.It's mostly sand.

It's no Mississippi, Phil, but it's a hard stream for anoutfit like ours to cross. I'm glad that Taylor hasalready cleared the way. You remember what a fightwe had with the Comanches back at the crossing of thatother and smaller river."