THROUGH TO TEXAS.
LET ME skip a great deal of what may be called introduction, for of
necessity it bore a resemblance to that which has already been told,
and has little if any connection with the main events of my story.
Mr. Watrous’ arrangements for the comfort of the boys was perfect.
The ride to St. Louis in the famous Limited Express was the luxury
of railway travelling, and they landed in the Mound City within
twenty-four hours after leaving Philadelphia, where Nick met his old
friend, Ned Osmun, who had given to him his wonderful ride on his
engine to Jersey City. He wished them every pleasure on their long
journey, which he said caused him a touch of envy, but he meant to
even-up matters by another fishing excursion in Western Pennsylvania,
with a call on Nick’s parents and pretty Nellie.
They stayed overnight at the Lindell in St. Louis, but were in such a
hurry to reach their destination that, without spending any time in
visiting the sights and interesting scenes, they left the following
morning over the Iron Mountain Railway for Texarkana.
This ride, though long and at times tedious, was enjoyed by both, for
the scenes and incidents gave a foretaste of what was coming. A number
of cattlemen were on the train, and the boys struck up an acquaintance
with them. They found them pleasant and ready to impart all the
information that was asked for.
There were long hours of riding through the dismal pine woods of
Missouri and Arkansas, where, mile after mile, they saw only an
occasional settler’s cabin, with the half-dressed children playing
around the door. In several cases, the openings between the logs were
so large that they could look through both the front and rear of the
structure and see the trees on the other side.
They left the train at Malvern, and took the narrow gauge railway to
the celebrated Hot Springs, twenty-five miles distant, where they
stayed overnight. One of the interesting facts learned here was the
clever manner in which “Diamond Jo,” who built and owns the narrow
gauge railway, outwitted the Arkansas Legislature, which forbade a
charge of more than five cents a mile on every line in the State
between any two places. The capitalist named had been charging and
receiving ten cents a mile, and he now flanked the law by locating the
western terminus of his line within two or three feet of the boundary
of Hot Springs, and continued serenely to receive his excessive rates
as before.
They reached Texarkana Saturday evening, and, since there was no
travelling westward on Sunday, that day was spent in the town, which
lies partly within Texas and partly within Arkansas, and includes
within its odd name a portion of the appellation of each of the two
States.
They attended church, which was capable of accommodating fifty people
by crowding, and whose walls contained but a single placard, which was
a request for the attendants not to spit on the floor.
The next stopping place was at Austin, the capital of Texas. The
weather was quite warm, but the nights were cool and breezy, and the
glimpses of the snowy cotton fields were a treat to the boys, who
looked upon them for the first time.
They spent one night and a portion of a day in Austin, visiting the
capitol and strolling through the city, which contains many fine
buildings of white marble-like stone, peculiar to the vicinity. In the
capitol they saw several fine paintings of the early heroes of Texas.
On the cenotaph (since destroyed by the burning of the capitol), was
the inscription to the memory of the defenders of the Alamo, which is
one of the most striking tributes ever conceived by man: “THERMOPYLÆ
HAD ITS MESSENGER OF DEFEAT: THE ALAMO HAD NONE.”
The railway line to San Antonio had recently been finished, and they
arrived in that quaint old town as night was closing in. A bright moon
was shining in an unclouded sky, and, after registering at the Menger
House, facing the Plaza, they strolled through the city and enjoyed a
view of the Alamo by moonlight. The brown adobe walls were softened
in the mild radiance, and, as Nick described the defence made by the
garrison of less than two hundred men against four thousand Mexicans
under Santa Anna, it seemed to Herbert that he was witnessing that
tremendous fight, which continued for eleven days, until only a dozen
grimy, panting, and exhausted defenders were left. The terrible Colonel
Bowie was shot in his sick bed, and Davy Crockett was among the handful
that at last surrendered, under the promise of honorable treatment, but
were treacherously massacred by Santa Anna.
The winding Colorado was impressively beautiful in the moonlight,
and the adobe mission houses, which were visited the next day, were
viewed with the interest that all tourists feel when they first look
upon them. Each was over a century old. One, in a fine state of
preservation, was pointed out, where the Jesuit fathers were besieged
by the Comanche Indians for nearly two years.
Among the curiosities noticed in San Antonio were the Mexican dogs,
without a hair on their bodies, and the other canines, known as
“tramps” or “nobody’s dogs,” who roam over the country between the city
and the Rio Grande, picking up their food, as do their biped brothers,
and confessing to the ownership of no one. That portion of San Antonio
called Mexico was squalid, and made up of old residents, many of whom
cannot speak a word of English, while in other sections nearly everyone
understands English, Spanish, and German.
The boys stayed several days in this city, for they looked upon it as
their real starting point or entrance into the great southwest. They
had talked over the question while on their way thither, and agreed
upon the line to be followed. Herbert had a letter of recommendation to
Mr. Lord, a banker, by which he could secure all the funds needed, and
who showed a wish to help him in every way in his power.
He invited the boys to visit him at his house, where they spent an
evening with the gentleman, who, having been a resident in Texas from
a date several years before the Civil War, was able to give the very
knowledge and counsel they needed. He told them a fact that they had
not noticed. San Antonio itself is a resort for invalids threatened
with, or suffering from, pulmonary weakness, who find the mild, equable
climate very helpful. He had known of cases in which it had wrought a
complete cure.
“But I see,” he said with a smile, “that that doesn’t suit your ideas;
while there are many sights here that you have not seen—such as the
Colorado Springs—yet you could not content yourselves in our sleepy
town for more than a day or two longer. You can take the stage from
here to El Paso, but the ride is tiresome, and, at this season of the
year, dusty and trying to a degree.”
“I don’t think we should fancy that,” said Nick, who refrained from
giving a hint of the plan they had formed.
“I suppose you are both good horsemen?” was the inquiring remark of the
banker.
They answered that they were fairly good riders. Nick had learned to
ride horses almost as soon as he could walk, and Herbert had taken
instructions at an academy in New York for a couple of years past.
“Everybody rides a horse or burro in Texas,” said Mr. Lord, “and the
only caution you need is to make sure you possess a clear title to the
animal you throw your leg over. There are few people hanged in Texas
for murder, but plenty are strung up every year for horse-stealing.
You would be objects of suspicion if you should take a walk out in the
country. My advice, then, is to buy three excellent ponies, provide
yourselves with a good outfit, including a fine repeating Winchester
rifle and a revolver apiece, with plenty of ammunition. You will need
an extra animal to carry your luggage. Then strike out for New Mexico.
You will have to ride a clean five hundred miles before crossing the
boundary, but it is the right season of the year, and the ride will do
you good.”
“Do you advise us to go alone?” asked Herbert.
“By no means; you must have companions who are familiar with the
country, and they can be easily secured.”
“How?”
“There are hunters, miners, prospectors, and adventurers in San Antonio
all the time, who have either just come from the wild regions beyond
or are about to set out for them. They may be rough in their ways, but
they are generally honest and trustworthy, and there will be no trouble
in engaging them as companions.”
“You have laid out the plan Herbert and I had fixed upon, but we felt
doubts about being able to carry it out. We have informed ourselves, so
far as we can, concerning the country over which we wish to ride, and
the more we learned, the more we saw the need of having men who were
familiar with it. How about the Indians?”
“Well, you are liable to meet them, but I do not think there is much
to be feared, as I have heard no disquieting rumors lately, though,”
added the banker significantly, “I was shot at myself, within the
present year, by a party of marauding Comanches, within six miles of
San Antonio. When you get into New Mexico, you will be likely to find
matters more lively.”
“Can you help us in engaging the right parties?”
“I think so; call around at my office to-morrow afternoon, when I am
quite sure I will be able to put you on the track of the ones whom you
ought to meet.”
The lads assured their host that they would be glad to do so, and,
declining his kind invitation to spend the night at his home, bade him
good-evening and started on their return to the Menger House.