The lower crossing of the San Saba, so frequently referred to, calls for
topographical description.
At this point the stream, several hundred yards wide, courses in smooth,
tranquil current, between banks wooded to the water's edge. The trees
are chiefly cottonwoods, with oak, elm, tulip, wild China, and pecan
interspersed; also the _magnolia grandiflora_; in short, such a forest
as may be seen in many parts of the Southern States. On both sides of
the river, and for some distance up and down, this timbered tract is
close and continuous, extending nearly a mile back from the banks; where
its selvedge of thinner growth becomes broken into glades, some of them
resembling flower gardens, others dense thickets of the _arundo
gigantea_, in the language of the country, "cane-brakes." Beyond this,
the bottom-land is open meadow, a sea of green waving grass--the
_gramma_ of the Mexicans--which, without tree or bush, sweeps in to the
base of the bluffs. On each side of the crossing the river is
approached by a path, or rather an avenue-like opening in the timber,
which shows signs of having been felled; doubtless, done by the former
proprietors of the mission, or more like, the soldiers who served its
garrison; a road made for military purposes, running between the
_presidio_ itself and the town of San Antonio de Bejar. Though again
partially overgrown, it is sufficiently clear to permit the passage of
wheeled vehicles, having been kept open by roving wild horses, with
occasionally some that are tamed and ridden--by Indians on raid.
On its northern side the river is approached by two distinct trails,
which unite before entering the wooded tract--their point of union being
just at its edge. One is the main road coming from the Colorado; the
other only an Indian trace, leading direct to the bluffs and the high
land above them. It was by the former that Colonel Armstrong's train
came up the valley, while the latter was the route taken by Hawkins and
Tucker in their bootless excursion after buffalo.
On the same evening, when the hunters, returning from their unsuccessful
search, repassed the ford, only at a later hour, a party of horsemen is
seen approaching it--not by the transverse trace, but the main up-river
road. In all there are five of them; four upon horseback, the fifth
riding a mule. It is the same party we have seen crossing the Sabine--
Clancy and his comrades--the dog still attached to it, the ex-jailer
added. They are travelling in haste--have been ever since entering the
territory of Texas. Evidence of this in their steeds showing jaded,
themselves fatigued. Further proof of it in the fact of their being now
close to the San Saba ford, within less than a week after Armstrong's
party passing over, while more than two behind it at starting from the
Sabine.
There has been nothing to delay them along the route--no difficulty in
finding it. The wheels of the loaded waggons, denting deep in the turf,
have left a trail, which Woodley for one could take up on the darkest
hour of the darkest night that ever shadowed a Texan prairie. It is
night now, about two hours after sundown, as coming up the river road
they enter the timber, and approach the crossing place. When within
about fifty yards of the ford at a spot where the path widens, they pull
up, Woodley and Clancy riding a little apart from the others, as if to
hold consultation whether they shall proceed across the stream, or stay
where they are for the night.
Clancy wishes to go forward, but Woodley objects, urging fatigue, and
saying:--
"It can't make much diff'rence now, whether we git up thar the night, or
take it leezyurly in the cool o' the mornin'. Since you say ye don't
intend showin' yourself 'bout the mission buildin', it'll be all the
better makin' halt hyar. We kin steal nearer; an' seelect a campin'
place at the skreek o' day jest afore sun-up. Arter thet me an' Ned 'll
enter the settlement, an' see how things stand."
"Perhaps you're right," responds Clancy, "If you think it better for us
to halt here, I shan't object; though I've an idea we ought to go on.
It may appear very absurd to you, Sime, but there's something on my
mind--a sort of foreboding."
"Forebodin' o' what?"
"In truth I can't tell what or why. Yet I can't get it out of my head
that there's some danger hanging over--"
He interrupts himself, holding back the name--Helen Armstrong. For it
is over her he fancies danger may be impending. No new fancy either;
but one that has been afflicting him all along, and urging him so
impatiently onward. Not that he has learnt anything new since leaving
the Sabine. On its banks the ex-jailer discharged his conscience in
full, by confessing all he could. At most not much; since his late
associates, seeing the foolish fellow he was, had never made him sharer
in their greatest secret. Still he had heard and reported enough to
give Clancy good reason for uneasiness.
"I kin guess who you're alludin' to," rejoins Woodley, without waiting
for the other to finish, "an' ef so, yur forebodin', as ye call it, air
only a foolish notion, an' nothin' more. Take Sime Woodley's word for
it, ye'll find things up the river all right."
"I hope so."
"Ye may be sure o't. Kalklate, ye don't know Planter Armstrong 's
well's I do, tho' I admit ye may hev a better knowledge o' one that
bears the name. As for the ole kurnel hisself, this chile's kampayned
wi' him in the Cherokee wars, an' kin say for sartin he aint a-goin' to
sleep 'ithout keepin' one o' his peepers skinned. Beside, his party air
too strong, an' the men composin' it too exparienced, to be tuk by
surprise, or attacked by any enemy out on these purayras, whether red
Injuns or white pirates. Ef thar air danger it'll come arter they've
settled down, an' growed unsurspishus. Then thar mout be a chance o'
circumventin' them. But then we'll be thar to purvent it. No fear o'
our arrivin' too late. We'll get up to the ole mission long afore noon
the morrow, whar ye'll find, what ye've been so long trackin' arter,
soun' an' safe. Trust Sime Woodley for that."
The comforting words tranquillise Clancy's fears, at the same time
checking his impatience. Still is he reluctant to stay, and shows it by
his answer.
"Sime, I'd rather we went on."
"Wal, ef ye so weesh it, on let's go. Your the chief of this party an'
kin command. For myself I'm only thinkin' or them poor, tired
critters."
The hunter points to the horses, that for the last hour have been
dragging their limbs along like bees honey-laden.
"To say nothin' o' ourselves," he adds, "though for my part I'm riddy to
keep on to the Rio Grand, if you insist on goin' thar."
Notwithstanding his professed willingness, there is something in the
tone of Sime's speech which contradicts it--just a _soupcon_ of
vexation.
Perceiving it, Clancy makes rejoinder with the delicacy becoming a
gentleman. Though against his will and better judgment, his habitual
belief in, and reliance on Woodley's wisdom, puts an end to his
opposition; and in fine yielding, he says:--
"Very well; we shall stay. After all, it can't make much difference. A
truce to my presentiments. I've often had such before, that came to
nothing. Hoping it may be the same now, we'll spend our night this side
the river."
"All right," responds the backwoodsman. "An' since it's decided we're
to stay, I see no reezun why we shedn't make ourselves as comfortable as
may be unner the circumstances. As it so chances, I know this hyar San
Saba bottom 'most as well as that o' our ole Massissip. An' ef my
mem'ry don't mistake, thar's a spot not far from hyar that'll jest suit
for us to camp in. Foller me; I'll find it."
Saying this, he kicks his heels against the ribs of his horse, and
compels the tired steed once more into reluctant motion, the rest riding
after in silence.