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

Two or three minutes of such amusement satisfied theshaman, and, going back inside the ropes, he turned hisattention again to the dancers. It was now much pastmidnight, and the slenderest and youngest of the warriorswas beginning to show some signs of weakness. Theshaman watched him keenly. He would last a long timeyet, and if he gave up it would not occur until he fellunconscious. Then he would be dragged out, water wouldbe thrown over him, and, when he recovered, he wouldbe compelled to resume dancing if the shaman ordered it.Sometimes the dancers died of exhaustion. It was wellto be in the good graces of the shaman.

But Phil was now watching Bill Breakstone, who waspressing back in the crowd, getting as far as possiblefrom the ropes that enclosed the dancers. Once or twicehe saw Breakstone's face, and it seemed to him that heread there an intention, a summoning of his faculties andresolution for some great attempt. The mind of a manat such a time could hold only one purpose, and thatwould be the desire to escape. Yet he could not escapesingle-handed, despite the absorption of the Comanchesin the medicine dance. There was only one door to thegreat lodge, and it was guarded. But Phil was there.He felt that the hand of Providence itself had sent himat this critical moment, and that Bill Breakstone, withhis help, might escape.

He watched for a long time. It must have been threeor four o'clock in the morning. The whistling, shrill, penetrating, now and then getting horribly upon hisnerves, still went on. The wavering warrior seemed tohave got his second wind, and around and around thewarriors went, their eyes fixed steadily upon the hideouswooden face of the joss. Phil believed that it must bealive to them now. It was alive to him even with itsghastly cheek of black and its ghastly cheek of white, andits thick, red lips, grinning down at the fearful strainthat was put upon men for its sake.

Phil's eyes again sought Breakstone. The captivehad now pushed himself back against the buffalo skinwall and stood there, as if he had reached the end of hiseffort. He, too, was now watching the dancers. Philnoted his position, with his shoulder against one of thewooden pieces that supported the buffalo hide, and thelad now saw the way. Courage, resolution, and endurancehad brought him to the second step on the stairway ofsuccess.

Phil sat on the bough and stretched his limbs againand again to bring back the circulation. Then he becameconscious of something that he had not noticed before inhis absorption. It was raining lightly. Drops fellfrom the boughs and leaves, but his rifle, shelteredagainst his coat, was dry, and the rain might serve theuseful purpose of hiding the traces of footsteps fromtrailers so skilled as the Comanches.

He dropped to the ground and moved softly by theside of the lodge, which was circular in shape, until hecame to the point at which he believed Bill Breakstonerested. There was the wooden scantling, and, unless hehad made a great mistake, the shoulder of the captivewas pressed against the buffalo hide on the left of it. Hedeliberated a moment or two, but he knew that he musttake a risk, a big risk. No success was possible withoutit, and he drew forth his hunting-knife. Phil was proudof this hunting-knife. It was long, and large of blade, and keen of edge. He carried it in a leather scabbard, and he had used it but little. He put the sharp pointagainst the buffalo hide at a place about the height of aman, and next to the scantling on the left. Then hepressed upon the blade, and endeavored to cut throughthe skin. It was no easy task. Buffalo hide is heavyand tough, but he gradually made a small slit, withoutnoise, and then, resting his hand and arm, lookedthrough it.

Phil saw little definite, only a confused mass of headsand bodies, the light of torches gleaming beyond them, and close by, almost against his eyes, a thatch of hair.That hair was brown and curling slightly, such hair asnever grew on the head of an Indian. It could clothe thehead of Bill Breakstone and none other. Phil's heartthrobbed once more. Courage and decision had wonagain. He put his mouth to the slit and whispered softly:

"Bill! Bill! Don't move! It is I, Phil Bedford!"

The thatch of brown hair, curling slightly at the ends, turned gently, and back came the whisper, so soft that itcould not have been heard more than a foot away:

"Phil, good old Phil! You've come for me! Imight have known it!"

"Are they still looking at the dance?"

"Yes, they can't keep their eyes off it."

"Then now is your only chance. You must get out ofthis medicine lodge, and I will help you. I'm going tocut through the buffalo hide low down, then you muststoop and push your way out at the slash, when they'renot looking."

"All right," said Bill Breakstone, and Phil detectedthe thrill of joy in his tone. Phil stooped and bearinghard upon the knife, cut a slash through the hide fromthe height of his waist to the ground.

"Now, Bill," he whispered, "when you think thetime has come, press through."

"All right," again came the answer with that leapingtone in it.

Phil put the knife back in its scabbard, and, pressingclosely against the hide beside the slash, waited. Billdid not come. A minute, another, and a third passed.He heard the monotonous whistling, the steady chant, and the ceaseless beat of the dancer's feet, but Breakstonemade no sound. Once more he pressed his lips to theslit, and said in the softest of tones:

"Are you coming, Bill?"

No answer, and again he waited interminable minutes.Then the lips of the buffalo skin parted, and a shoulderappeared at the opening. It was thrust farther, and ahead and face, the head and face of Bill Breakstone, followed. Then he slipped entirely out, and the toughbuffalo hide closed up behind him. Phil seized hishand, and the two palms closed in a strong grasp.

"I had to wait until nobody was looking my way,"whispered Breakstone, "and then it was necessary tomake it a kind of sleight-of-hand performance. I slippedthrough so quick that any one looking could only see theplace where I had been."

Then he added in tones of irrepressible admiration:

"It was well done, it was nobly done, it was grandlydone, Sir Philip of the Night and the Knife."

"Hark to that!" said Phil, "they miss you already!"

A shout, sharp, shrill, wholly different from all theother sounds, came from within the great medicine lodge.It was the signal of alarm. It was not repeated, and thewhistling and wailing went on, but Phil and Breakstoneknew that warriors would be out in an instant, seekingthe lost captive.

"We must run for it," whispered Breakstone, as theystood among the trees.

"It's too late," said Phil. Warriors with torcheshad already appeared at either end of the grove, but thelight did not yet reach where the two stood in the thickdarkness, with the gentle rain sifting through the leavesupon them. Phil saw no chance to escape, because thelight of the torches reached into the river bed, and then, like lightning, the idea came to him.

"Look over your head, Bill," he said. "You standunder an Indian platform for the dead, and I underanother! Jump up on yours and lie down between themummies, and I'll do the same here. Take this pistolfor the last crisis, if it should come!"

He thrust his pistol into his companion's hand, seizeda bough, and drew himself up. Bill Breakstone wasquick of comprehension, and in an instant he didlikewise. Two bodies tightly wrapped in deerskin wereabout three feet apart, and Phil, not without a shudder, lay down between them. Bill Breakstone on hisplatform did the same. They were completely hidden, butthe soft rain seeped through the trees and fell upon theirfaces. Phil stretched his rifle by his side and scarcelybreathed.

The medicine dance continued unbroken inside.Okapa, greatest shaman of the Comanches, still stood inthe ring watching the circling twelve. The symbols andhieroglyphics painted on his naked body gleamed ruddilyin the light of the torches, but the war chief, BlackPanther, and the other great war chief, Santana, had goneforth with many good warriors. The single cry hadwarned them. Sharp eyes had quickly detected the slitin the wall of buffalo skin, and even the littlest Indianboy knew that this was the door by which the captivehad passed. He knew, too, that he must have had aconfederate who had helped from the outside, but the warriorswere sure that they could yet retake the captive and hisfriend also.

Black Panther, Santana, and a dozen warriors, somecarrying torches, rushed into the grove. They ran by theside of the medicine lodge until they came to the slit.There they stopped and examined it, pulling it openwidely. They noticed the powerful slash of the knifethat had cut through the tough buffalo hide four feet tothe ground. Then they knelt down and examined theground for traces of footsteps. But the rain, thebeneficent, intervening rain, had done its work. It had pusheddown the grass with gentle insistence and flooded theground until nothing was left from which the keenestComanche could derive a clue. They ran about like dogsin the brake, seeking the scent, but they found nothing.Warriors from the river had reported, also, that they sawnobody.

It was marvelous, incomprehensible, this suddenvanishing of the captive and his friend, and the two chiefswere troubled. They glanced up at the dark platforms ofthe dead and shivered a little. Perhaps the spirits ofthose who had passed were not favorable to them. It waswell that Okapa made medicine within to avert disasterfrom the tribe. But Black Panther and Santana werebrave men, else they would not have been great chiefs, and they still searched in this grove, which was more orless sacred, examining behind every tree, prowling amongthe bushes, and searching the grass again and again forfootsteps.

Phil lay flat upon his back, and those moments wereas vivid in his memory years afterward as if they werepassing again. Either elbow almost touched the shroudedform of some warrior who had lived intensely in histime. They did not inspire any terror in him now. Hisenemies alive, they had become, through no will of theirown, his protectors dead. He did not dare even to turnon his side for fear of making a noise that might beheard by the keen watchers below. He merely looked upat the heavens, which were somber, full of driftingclouds, and without stars or moon. The rain wasgradually soaking through his clothing, and now and thendrops struck him in the eyes, but he did not notice them.

He heard the Comanches walking about beneath him, and the guttural notes of their words that he did notunderstand, but he knew that neither he nor BillBreakstone could expect much mercy if they were found.After one escape they would be lucky if they met quickdeath and not torture at the hands of the Comanches.He saw now and then the reflection of the torch-lightshigh up on the walls of the medicine lodge, but generallyhe saw only the clouds and vapors above him.

Despite the voices and footsteps, Phil felt that theywould not be seen. No one would ever think of lookingin such places for him and Breakstone. But the waitwas terribly long, and the suspense was an acute physicalstrain. He felt his breath growing shorter, and thestrength seemed to depart from his arms and legs. Hewas glad that he was lying down, as it would have beenhard to stand upon one's feet and wait, helpless and insilence, while one's fate was being decided. There waseven a fear lest his breathing should turn to a gasp, andbe heard by those ruthless searchers, the Comanches.Then he fell to calculating how long it would be untildawn. The night could not last more than two or threehours longer, and if they were compelled to remain thereuntil day, the chance of being seen by the Comancheswould become tenfold greater.

He longed, also, to see or hear his comrade who laynot ten feet away, but he dared not try the lowest ofwhispers. If he turned a little on his side to see, themummy of some famous Comanche would shut out theview; so he remained perfectly still, which was the wisestthing to do, and waited through interminable time. Therain still dripped through the foliage, and by and by thewind rose, the rain increasing with it. The wet leavesmatted together, but above wind and rain came the soundfrom the medicine lodge, that ceaseless whistling andbeating of the dancers' feet. He wondered when it wouldstop. He did not know that Comanche warriors had beenknown to go around and around in their dance three daysand three nights, without stopping for a moment, andwithout food or water.

After a long silence without, he heard the Comanchesmoving again through the grove, and the reflection fromthe flare of a torch struck high on the wall of themedicine lodge. They had come back for a second search!He felt for a few moments a great apprehension lest theyinvade the platforms themselves, but this thought wasquickly succeeded by confidence in the invisibility ofBreakstone and himself, and the superstition of theIndians.

The tread of the Comanches and their occasional talkdied away, the lights disappeared from the creek bed, and the regions, outside the medicine lodge and the otherlodges, were left to the darkness and the rain. Phil feltdeep satisfaction, but he yet remained motionless andsilent. He longed to call to Breakstone, but he dreaded lesthe might do something rash. Bill Breakstone was olderthan he, and had spent many years in the wilderness.It was for him to act first. Phil, despite an overwhelmingdesire to move and to speak, held himself rigid andvoiceless. In a half hour came the soft, whisperingquestion:

"Phil, are you there?"

It was Breakstone from the next tree, and never wassound more welcome. He raised himself a little, anddrops of rain fell from his face.

"Yes, I'm here, Bill, but I'm mighty anxious tomove," he replied in the same low tone.

"I'm tired of having my home in a graveyard, too,"said Bill Breakstone, "though I'll own that for the timeand circumstances it was about the best home that couldbe found this wide world over. It won't be more thanan hour till day, Phil, and if we make the break at allwe must make it now."

"I'm with you," said Phil. "The sooner we start, the better it will please me."

"Better stretch yourself first about twenty times," saidBill Breakstone. "Lying so long in one position withthe rain coming down on top of you may stiffen you upquite a lot."

Phil obeyed, flexing himself thoroughly. He sat upand gently touched the mummy on either side of him.He had no awe, no fear of these dead warriors. Theyhad served him well. Then, swinging from a bough, hedropped lightly to the ground, and he heard the soft noiseof some one alighting near him. The form of BillBreakstone showed duskily.

"Back from the tombs," came the cheerful whisper."Phil, you're the greatest boy that ever was, and you'vedone a job that the oldest and boldest scout might envy.

"I was a captive,The Indians had me;Phil was adaptive,Now they've lost me.

"I composed that rhyme while I was lying on thedeath platform up there. I certainly had plenty oftime-and now which way did you come, Phil?"

"Under the shelter of the creek bank. The woodsrun down to it, and it is high enough to hide a man."

"Then that is the way we will go, and we will notlinger in the going. Let the Comanches sing and danceif they will. They can enjoy themselves that way, butwe can enjoy ourselves more by running down the darkbed of a creek."

They slipped among the wet trees and bushes, andsilently lowered themselves down the bank into the sandof the creek bottom. There they took a parting look atthe medicine lodge. It showed through a rift in thetrees, huge and dark, and on either side of it the two sawfaint lights in the village. Above the soft swishing ofthe rain rose the steady whistling sound from the lodge, which had never been broken for a moment, not even bythe escape of the prisoner and the search.

"I was never before so glad to tell a place good-by,"whispered Bill Breakstone.

"It's time to go," said Phil. "I'll lead the way, asI've been over it once."

He walked swiftly along the sand, keeping well undercover of the bank, and Bill Breakstone was close behindhim. They heard the rain pattering on the surface of thewater, and both were wet through and through, but joythrilled in every vein of the two. Bill Breakstone hadescaped death and torture; Phil Bedford, a boy, hadrescued him in face of the impossible, and they certainlyhad full cause for rejoicing.

"How far down the creek bed do you think we oughtto go?" asked Breakstone.

"A quarter of a mile anyway," replied Phil, "andthen we can cut across the plain and enter the forest."

Everything had been so distinct and vivid that heremembered the very place at which he had dropped downinto the creek bed, when he approached the medicinelodge, and when he came to it again, he said: "Here weare," springing up at one bound. Breakstone promptlyfollowed him. Then a figure appeared in the duskimmediately in front of Phil, the figure of a tall man, nakedsave the breech cloth, a great crown of brightly coloredfeathers upon his head. It was a Comanche warrior, probably the last of those returning from the fruitlesssearch for the captive.

The Comanche uttered the whoop of alarm, and Phil, acting solely on impulse, struck madly with the butt ofhis rifle. But he struck true. The fierce cry wassuddenly cut short. The boy, with a shuddering effect, feltsomething crush beneath his rifle stock. Then he andBill Breakstone leaped over the fallen body and ran withall their might across the plain toward the woods.

"It was well that you hit so quick and hard," breathedBreakstone, "but his single yell has alarmed the warriors.Look back, they are getting ready to pursue."

Phil cast one hurried glance over his shoulder. Hesaw lights twinkling among the Comanche lodges, andthen he heard a long, deep, full-throated cry, uttered byperhaps a hundred throats.

"Hark to them!" exclaimed Breakstone. "Theyknow the direction from which that cry came, and you andI, Phil, will have to make tracks faster than we ever didbefore in our lives."

"At any rate, we've got a good start," said Phil.

They ran with all speed toward the woods, but behindthem and in other directions they heard presently the beatof hoofs, and both felt a thrill of alarm.

"They are on their ponies, and they are galloping allover the plain," said Bill Breakstone. "Some of themare bound to find us, but you've the rifle, and I've thepistol!"

They ran with all their might, but from two or threepoints the ominous beat of hoofs came closer. They weredevoutly glad now of the rain and the shadowed moonthat hid them from all eyes except those very near. BothPhil and Breakstone stumbled at intervals, but theywould recover quickly, and continue at undiminished, speed for the woods, which were now showing in a blackerline against the black sky.

There was a sudden swift beat of hoofs, and twowarriors galloped almost upon them. Both the warriorsuttered shouts at sight of the fugitives, and fired. Butin the darkness and hurry they missed. Breakstone firedin return, and one of the Indians fell from his pony.Phil was about to fire at the other, but the Comanchemade his pony circle so rapidly that in the faint light hecould not get any kind of aim. Then he saw somethingdark shoot out from the warrior's hand and uncoil in theair. A black, snakelike loop fell over Bill Breakstone'shead, settled down on his shoulders, and was suddenlydrawn taut, as the mustang settled back on his haunches.Bill Breakstone, caught in the lasso, was thrown to theground by the violent jerk, but with the stopping of thehorse came Phil's chance. He fired promptly, and theComanche fell from the saddle. The frightened mustangran away, just as Breakstone staggered dizzily to his feet.Phil seized him by the arm.

"Come, Bill, come!" he cried. "The woods are notthirty yards away!"

"Once more unto the breach, or rather the woods!"exclaimed the half-unconscious man. "Lead on, PrinceHal, and I follow! That's mixed, but I mean well!"

They ran for the protecting woods, Breakstone halfsupported by Phil, and behind them they now heard manycries and the tread of many hoofs. A long, black, snake-like object followed Bill Breakstone, trailing through thegrass and weeds. They had gone half way before Philnoticed it. Then he snatched out his knife and severedthe lasso. It fell quivering, as if it were a live thing, and lay in a wavy line across the grass. But thefugitives were now at the edge of the woods, and BillBreakstone's senses came back to him in full.

"Well done again, Sir Philip of the Knife and theReady Mind," he whispered. "I now owe two lives toyou. I suppose that if I were a cat I would in the endowe you nine. But suppose we turn off here at anangle to the right, and then farther on we'll takeanother angle. I think we're saved. They can't followus on horses in these dense woods, and in all thisdarkness."

They stepped lightly now, but drew their breaths indeep gasps, their hearts throbbing painfully, and theblood pounding in their ears. But they thanked Godagain for the clouds and the moonless, starless sky. Itcould not be long until day, but it would be long enoughto save them.

They went nearly a quarter of a mile to the right, andthen they took another angle, all the while bearing deeperinto the hills. From time to time they heard the warcries of the Comanches coming from different points, evidently signals to one another, but there was no soundof footsteps near them.

"Let's stop and rest a little," said Bill Breakstone."These woods are so thick and there is so muchundergrowth that they cannot penetrate here with horses, and,as they know that at least one of us is armed, they willbe a little wary about coming here on foot. They knowwe'd fight like tigers to save ourselves. 'Thrice armedis he who hath his quarrel just,' and if a man who istrying to save his life hasn't got a just quarrel, I don'tknow who has. Here's a good place."

They had come to a great oak which grew by the sideof a rock projecting from a hill. The rain had beengentle, and the little alcove, formed by the rock above andthe great trunk of the tree on one side, was sheltered anddry. Moreover, it contained many dead leaves of thepreceding autumn, which had been caught there whenwhirled before the winds. It was large enough for two, and they crept into it, not uttering but feeling deepthanks.

CHAPTER VII

THE GREAT SLEEP

When Phil drew the warm leaves about him hefelt a mighty sensation of relief, accompaniedby a complete mental and physical relaxation.The supreme tension of the spirit that had borne him upso long was gone now, when it was needed no longer, andhe uttered a deep sigh of content. Bill Breakstone put ahand upon his shoulder.

"Phil," he said simply, "I owe you so much that Ican't ever repay it."

"Your chance will come," replied the boy. "You'llprobably do more for me than I've ever done for you."

"We'll see," said Bill Breakstone. "I'm thinking,Phil, that this is about the best hiding place we couldhave found, so we'll just lie quiet, as we'll see the edgeof the day inside of half an hour."

The two remained perfectly still. Yet they couldhear for awhile their own strained breathing, and Philfelt his heart constrict painfully after his long flight.But the breathing of both grew easier. In a short whileit was normal again. Then they saw a touch of gray inthe east, the rain ceased like a dissolving mist, a silverlight fell over the forest, turning presently to gold, and itwas day in the east.

Some of the sunbeams entered the thick jungle offorest where they lay, touching the leaves and grass hereand there with gold, but in most places the shadows stillhovered. Phil and Breakstone looked at their surroundings.They had left no trail in coming there, and thebushes about them were so dense that even Indian eyesten feet away could not have seen them.

The sunlight was deepening. Birds in the trees beganto sing. All the beings of the wilderness, little and big, awoke to life. Trees and grass dried swiftly under thestrong fresh wind. Bill Breakstone glanced at hisyouthful comrade.

"Phil," he said, "I'll take the rifle, and you go tosleep. You've had a harder time than I have, and, whenyou wake up, I'll tell you how I was captured."

"I think I'll do it, Bill," said the boy, putting his.arm under his head and closing his eyes. The strain wasgone from his nerves now, and sleep came readily. Inthree minutes he was oblivious of Comanches and all elsethat the world contained. Bill Breakstone could haveslept if he had tried, but he did not try. Under amanner nearly always light and apparently superficial heconcealed a strong nature and much depth of feeling. Itseemed to him that at the last moment a hand had beenstretched out to save him from the worst of fates. Itseemed to him, also, that it must have been a sort ofinspiration, the direction of a supreme will, for Phil tohave come to him at such a time. It was a brave deed,a wonderful deed, and it had been brilliantly successful.