THE PLOTTERS ONCE MORE
For a moment after the statement by Sid Hutchinson, the two boys and
Crockett looked at each other in wonder.
“Well,” said the colonel, finally, “it’s like finding a needle in a
haystack, boys; but we’ve found it--all by chance.”
In a few words Walter had told young Hutchinson the necessary facts of
his hunt for Ethel Norton; and Sid looked amazed.
“Well, look at that!” said he. “Did you ever hear anything like it
before!”
“But tell us what’s happened,” urged Ned Chandler. “How did the
Mexicans come to get you?”
The boy got upon his feet.
“We had about as nice and quiet a journey as you’ve ever seen,” said
he. “Nothing happened until yesterday, when we crossed the Colorado
and went into camp. Then we met three Americans.”
“Three!” said Walter.
“Yes,” replied the other boy. “They were, strangely enough, coming from
San Antonio, and were on their way to New Orleans.”
Again Ned and Crockett and Walter exchanged glances. The eyes of the
backwoodsman were full of laughter.
“Well, well!” said he. “And of course you all got to talking and saying
how queer it was that you were going _from_ New Orleans _to_ San
Antonio.”
“Yes, of course,” admitted the boy.
“Did the three Americans seem interested?” asked the backwoodsman.
“They did,” said Sid Hutchinson. “That is, for a while. Then they
seemed to shut up tight; and they didn’t say much more about anything.”
“Did they give any names?” asked Walter.
“One’s name was Huntley--I think they called him colonel. Then there
was a sharp looking man in black--Davidge they called him. I forget the
name of the third one.”
“Well,” asked Davy Crockett, “what happened?”
“We thought they meant to camp with us that night,” said Sid. “But they
changed their minds and went away a little after dark.”
“When were you attacked by the Mexicans?” asked Crockett.
“This morning. We’d just broken camp and had got the mules hitched to
the wagon, when they came down on us.”
“What became of Miss Norton?” asked Ned, feverishly.
“The last I saw of her,” said Sid, “she was on a mustang, tearing away
toward the southwest with my brother Bill beside her. Then I was cut
off, and headed for the river, meaning to swim my pony across. I’d
got to this side, but the Mexicans knew the country and in a little
while had me surrounded. Then they took me back across the river and
began following the trail of those of their band who’d rode after Ethel
Norton and my brother Bill.”
“Yes, yes,” said Walter and Ned in a breath.
“We’d gone about six or eight miles,” said the boy, “and then we heard
firing ahead; some of the Mexicans went forward to find out what it
meant; they came back in a little while full tilt and away we struck
back for the river once more. We’d crossed and had ridden about an hour
on this side when we sighted you folks.”
“Haven’t you any idea what the firing meant that you heard when the
party stopped and turned back?”
Sid shook his head.
“I’m not sure,” said he. “But if my judgment’s any good, I’d say that
the lot that had gone in chase of Ethel and my brother had been given
a good stiff run, and in the end had fallen in with some Americans
who’d sailed into them.”
“In that case,” said Walter, “Miss Norton would be all right.”
Sid nodded.
“That’s what I think,” said he.
“There’s only one way to make sure,” said Davy Crockett. “And that’s to
cross the river and find out.”
The pony which Sid Hutchinson had been bound upon was not fit to ride;
but there were a number of riderless mustangs standing and trotting
about on the plain, belonging to Mexicans who had fallen in the fight.
One of these was caught without trouble, and Sid mounted at once.
In the course of an hour they reached a ford of the Colorado and
crossed; Sid led them to the site of the encampment where the Mexicans
had first attacked them; and at once Crockett and Dolph caught the
trail of the pursuers of Ethel Norton and Sid’s brother Bill, and away
they rode, the remainder of the party following with ready rifles.
After a hard ride they came to a place which was thickly grown with
timber.
Sid Hutchinson called to Crockett.
“Here’s where we stopped when we heard the firing,” said he. “It was
somewhere on the other side of the timber.”
The party pushed their way through the trees; and in a little while
they came upon the scene of what must have been a hard fight.
“And once more the Mexicans got the worst of it,” said Jed Curley.
Dead men and horses lay about; but of living men there was no trace.
Dolph rode about the field and narrowly scanned the field for
indications.
“Here’s the way the Mexicans went when they left,” said he, pointing to
the ground. “And here’s the direction the people took who fought them.”
Both Walter and Ned examined the last trail eagerly; both had the same
thought in his mind.
“Wagon tracks,” said Walter. “Here they are.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Ned excitedly.
“Ethel and Bill’s gone off with the party that rescued them,” spoke
young Hutchinson.
“And toward San Antonio,” said Davy Crockett.
The little band followed the trail for a few miles and then went into
camp. Early in the morning they were off once more. But the party ahead
of them were evidently hard riders, for the distance between them did
not seem to decrease.
“It’s my private opinion,” said Colonel Crockett, “that this trail is
a half dozen hours old. More than likely the folks ahead have ridden a
good part of the night.”
In the afternoon they crossed the Guadalupe River and pushed toward
San Antonio de Bexer. They did not reach the town until long after
nightfall; and then Crockett rode directly to the headquarters of
Colonel Travis, where he was warmly welcomed.
Travis was a stalwart young man who had gone into Texas much as
Crockett himself had done; and he shook hands with the two boys
cordially.
“I’m glad to see you,” said he. “Every state in the Union seems to be
sending men and boys to help the cause along. In a little while we
shall have an army large enough for work against Santa Anna. And then
we can begin active operations.”
The boys were then introduced to “Jim” Bowie, known throughout the
southwest as the first user of the celebrated “Bowie knife.” He was
a big light-haired man, with the blue eyes of the fighter, and had
crossed the prairies from Louisiana, where he had his home, to take
part in the coming struggle.
“There’s hardly a day,” said he, after he had greeted the party with
rare good will, “that I don’t meet a few newcomers. To-day it’s
Colonel Crockett and his friends; yesterday it was an American girl and
boy who were racing across the plains near the Colorado with a crew of
Mexicans after them full tilt.”
Both Ned and Walter grasped Colonel Bowie’s arm.
“A girl!” said Ned.
“Where is she now?” demanded Walter.
Bowie looked from one to the other of the boys in surprise.
“She’s just now with Mrs. Allison, and, I reckon, sound asleep,” said
he. “But there’s the boy in the next room there.”
Sid Hutchinson leaped through the door and into the adjoining room with
a whoop. A young fellow of about nineteen sat reading an old newspaper
in a corner; and in a moment he and Sid had their arms about each other
and were prancing about the room like mad. When the first great rush
of joy was over, Sid introduced his brother to Walter and Ned who had
followed him into the room, and in a few words explained the facts of
his capture and rescue and of Walter and Ned’s search for Ethel Norton.
Bill Hutchinson listened in surprise.
“Well,” said he, at length, “it does beat all how things come about,
doesn’t it? Ethel will be glad to see you.” Then turning to his brother
he added, “Do you remember those three men who rode up to our camp the
other night and then rode away?”
“I do,” said Sid.
“Well, what would you say if I told you I saw them among the Mexicans
who chased me and Ethel?”
“I’d believe it,” said Sid, quietly and promptly. And then he told his
brother who the three were, and the nature of their errand to Texas.
Bill listened, amazed.
“Hello!” said he. “Hello! What’s this!”
“They are rogues,” said Walter. “And as Sam Davidge is to come into the
estate in case Ethel Norton does not claim it, there’s no telling what
they would do, should she fall into their hands.”
“That’s good sense,” remarked Bill Hutchinson. “And I say the same.
Well, I guess Ethel’s all right now, though. She’s with Mrs. Allison,
and _she_ is an American woman of the right kind.”
“Where does Mrs. Allison live?” asked Ned Chandler.
“At the end of town which you must have entered,” replied Bill. “It’s a
small ’dobe house with a garden about it. It stands all alone.”
Both Walter and Ned remembered the house, for they had passed by its
very door. There had been a light burning in one of the windows and
they had remarked how lonely it looked, as they rode toward it over the
trail. And now, when they learned that the girl they had come so far to
see was there, and recalled the loneliness of the place, they looked at
each other.
“Suppose,” suggested Walter, “we go over that far and take a look at
things.”
Ned was willing and eager, and the two Hutchinsons showed an interested
willingness.
As the boys passed through the room where Crockett sat with Travis and
Bowie and some others, they, in a low voice, told him where they were
going.
“It’s rather late,” said the backwoodsman. “And like as not they’ll all
be abed. But,” with a nod of the head, “it never does any harm to have
a look around.”
San Antonio was one of the oldest Spanish settlements in Texas. The
site was first occupied in 1715 as a military post to protect the
region from the French, then occupying Louisiana, and also to guard the
Franciscan friars whose missions, planted along the San Antonio River,
were liable to attack from the Indians.
It was an important town, having a population of about twenty-five
hundred, and was a celebrated trading place for the Indians and the
Mexicans of the northern provinces.
Under the Franciscans, a great number of Indians had been taught the
laws of civilization and religion; great irrigation ditches had been
cut to water the soil; fine stone buildings and churches had been
erected. But during the period of American filibustering expeditions,
and the revolution during which the Mexicans threw off the rule of
Spain, the town had been left practically unprotected; the attacks of
the fierce people of the plains, the Comanches and Apaches, had been
frequent; and so the churches and stone buildings were now ruins, the
great ditches choked and useless, the civilized Indians had disappeared.
So it was a very much decayed San Antonio through which the four boys
passed on their way to Mrs. Allison’s house.
The moon was shining, and the little ’dobe building stood silent and
pale under its cold light. As the boys stood some little distance away,
they heard the whinny of a horse and the stamp of hoofs. But they did
not attribute any importance to this; horses were to be heard and seen
anywhere in towns like San Antonio. But when they saw two indistinct
forms holding close to the shadows thrown by the house, they became all
attention.
“Take it quietly now,” warned Walter Jordan. “It might mean nothing at
all.”
Upon their hands and knees they approached the house; or at least three
of them did, for Sid Hutchinson had noiselessly left them, walked
softly along the deserted street for a space, and was now speeding as
hard as he could go for the American headquarters.
Walter and Ned had left their rifles behind them, but each possessed
a derringer which Crockett had advised them to buy at the beginning
of the journey west from the Mississippi. But Bill Hutchinson had no
weapon except a hatchet which he carried in his belt.
There now came a rattling sound and a jingling as though something had
dropped to the ground.
“They are forcing the door,” whispered Ned Chandler.
The boys pressed forward, cautiously, but with more speed. The door of
the house was open; as they stood beside it, not sure of their next
movement, and not wanting to make a false one, there came a sudden and
startling scream from the interior. At this they sprang inside, the
derringers and the tomahawk held ready for use.
Upon their appearance there came a shot and a confusion of voices which
Walter and Ned recognized as those of Huntley and Barker. Then there
was a smashing of glass.
“This way!” cried the voice of Colonel Huntley.
“He’s going through the window at the other side of the house,” cried
Ned.
The three lads darted out, and around the house. Under some trees
not far from the trail were a dozen or more mounted men. Huntley was
running toward these, the fainting form of a girl in his arms.
Like young panthers both Walter and Ned sprang upon him; he dropped the
girl under the weight of their attack, and with the fury of a giant
fought them off. Barker scrambled upon his horse, and his voice was now
heard shouting to the Mexicans.
“Shoot, you yellow idiots! Why don’t you shoot!”
“Five hundred dollars to the man who gets the girl!” came the voice of
Sam Davidge.
Rifles and small arms were flung forward in the moonlight; Huntley drew
a derringer and advanced upon the boys. But before a shot could be
fired there came a rush of hoofs; old Dolph, Jed Curley and a dozen
more, with Sid Hutchinson in their midst, dashed upon the scene.
Huntley, seeing them, leaped upon his horse and, after firing a wild
shot at the boys from the pistol, wheeled his mount and tore away down
the trail with the Mexicans.
Like the wind, Dolph, Jed and Sid Hutchinson and their party tore by in
pursuit. From the distance came the sound of hoofs and the rattle of
shots; then the boys lifted up the fainting Ethel Norton and carried
her back to the house.