THE TEXANS
Late in the afternoon Ned's nerves began to affect him again. Once more,
the old longing for action took such strong hold upon him that he could
not cast it off for a long time. But he hid his face from Obed. He did
not want his older comrade to see that he was white and trembling.
Finally, he took some food from his pack and bit fiercely upon it, as he
ate. It was not for the food that he cared, but it was a relief to bring
his teeth together so hard. Obed looked at him approvingly.
"You're setting a good example, Ned," he said, "and I'll follow it."
He too ate, and then took a satisfactory drink from his water bottle.
Meanwhile the sun was setting in a cloudless sky, and both noticed with
satisfaction that it would be a clear night. Eyes, trained like theirs,
could see even in the dusk an enemy trying to creep upon them.
"Do you think you could sleep a while, Ned?" said Obed, persuasively.
"Of course, I'll awake you at the first alarm, if the alarm itself
doesn't do it. Sleep knits us up for the fray, and a man always wants to
be at his best when he goes into battle."
"How could a fellow sleep now?"
"Only the brave and resolute can do it," replied Obed, cunningly.
"Napoleon slept before Austerlitz, and while no Austerlitz is likely to
happen down here in the wilderness of Northern Mexico there is nothing
to keep those who are able from copying a great man."
The appeal to Ned's pride was not lost.
"I think I'll try it," he said.
He lay down behind the log with his rifle by his side, and closed his
eyes. He had no idea that he could go to sleep, but he wished to show
Obed his calmness in face of danger. Yet he did sleep, and he did not
awaken until Obed's hand fell upon his shoulder. He would have sprung
up, all his faculties not yet regained, but Obed's hand pressed him
down.
"Don't forget where you are, Ned," said the Maine man, "and that we are
still besieged."
Yet the night was absolutely still and Ned, from his recumbent position,
looked up at a clear sky and many glittering stars.
"Has anything happened?" he asked.
"Not a thing. No Lipan has shown himself even among the trees."
"About what time do you think it is?"
"Two or three hours after midnight, and now I'm going to take a nap
while you watch. Ned, do you know, I've an idea those fellows are going
to sit in the woods indefinitely, safe, beyond range, and wait for us to
come out. Doesn't it make you angry?"
"It does, and it makes me angry also to think that they have our horses.
Those were good horses."
Obed slept until day, and Ned watched with a vigilance that no creeping
enemy could pass. The Lipans made no movement, but the siege, silent and
invisible, went on. Ned had another attack of the nerves, but, as his
comrade was sleeping soundly, he took no trouble to hide it, and let the
spell shake itself out.
The day was bright, burning and hot, and it threatened to pass like its
predecessor, in silence and inaction. Ned and Obed had been lying down
or sitting down so long that they had grown stiff, and now, knowing that
they were out of range they stood up and walked boldly about, tensing
and flexing their muscles, and relieving the bodily strain. Ned thought
that their appearance might tempt the Lipans to a shot or some other
demonstration, but no sound came from the woods, and they could not see
any human presence there. "Maybe they have gone away after all," said
Ned hopefully.
"If you went over there to the woods you'd soon find out that they
hadn't."
"Suppose they really went away. We'd have no way of knowing it and then
we'd have to sit here forever all the same."
Obed laughed, despite the grimness of their situation.
"That is a problem," he said, "but if you can't work a problem it will
work itself if you only give it enough time."
The morning was without result, but in the afternoon they saw figures
stirring in the wood and concluded that some movement was at hand.
"Ned," said Obed, "I think we've either won in the contest of patience,
or that something else has occurred to disturb the Lipans. Don't you see
horses as well as Indians there among the trees?"
"I can count at least five horses, and I've no doubt there are others."
"All of which to my mind indicates a rush on horseback. Perhaps they
think they can gallop over us. We'd better lay our pistols on the logs,
where we can get at 'em quick, and be ready."
Ned's sharp eye caught sight of more horses at another point.
"They're coming from all sides," he said.
"You face to the right and I'll face to the left," said Obed, "and be
sure your bullet counts. If we bring down a couple of them they will
stop. Indians are not fond of charging in the open, and, besides, it
will be hard for them to force their horses in among these logs and
trees of ours."
Ned did not answer, but he had listened attentively. The muzzle of his
rifle rested upon the log beside his pistol, and, with his eye looking
down the sights, he was watching for whatever might come.
A sharp whistle sounded from the wood. At the same instant, three bands
of Lipans galloped from the trees at different points, and converged
upon the little fortress. They were all naked to the waist, and the sun
blazed down upon their painted bodies, lighting up their lean faces and
fierce eyes. They uttered shout after shout, as they advanced, and as
they came closer, bent down behind the shoulders of their ponies or
clung to their sides.
The tremor of the nerves seized Ned again, but it was gone in a moment.
Then a fierce passion turned the blood in his veins to fire. Why were
these savages seeking his life? Why had they hung upon his trail for
days and days? And why had they kept up that silent and invincible siege
so long? Yet he did not forget his earlier resolution to watch for a
good shot, knowing that his life hung upon it. But it was hard to hold
one's fire when the thud of those charging hoofs was coming closer.
The horsemen in front of him were four in number, and the leader who
wore a brilliant feathered headdress, seemed to be a chief. Ned chose
him for his target, but for a few moments the Lipan made his pony bound
from side to side in such a manner that he could not secure a good aim.
But his chance came. The Lipan raised his head and opened his mouth to
utter a great shout of encouragement to his followers. The shout did not
pass his lips, because Ned's bullet struck him squarely in the forehead,
and he fell backward from his horse, dead before he touched the ground.
Ned heard Obed's rifle crack with his own, but he could not turn his
head to see the result. He snatched up his pistol and fired a second
shot which severely wounded a Lipan rider, and then all three parties of
the Lipans, fearing the formidable hedge, turned and galloped back,
leaving two of their number lifeless upon the ground.
Obed had not fired his pistol, but he stood holding it in his hand, his
eyes flashing with grim triumph. Ned was rapidly reloading his rifle.
"If we didn't burn their noble Lipan faces then I'm mightily mistaken,"
said Obed, as he too began to reload his rifle. "A charge that is not
pressed home is no charge at all. Hark, what is that?"
There was a sudden crash of rifle shots in the forest, the long whining
whoop of the Lipans and then hard upon it a deep hoarse cheer.
"White men!" exclaimed Ned.
"And Texans!" said Obed. "Such a roar as that never came from Mexican
throats. It's friends! Do you hear, Ned, it's friends! There go the
Indians!"
Across the far edge of the open went the Lipans in wild flight, and, as
they pressed their mustangs for more speed, bullets urged them to
efforts yet greater. Fifteen or twenty men galloped from the trees, and
Ned and Obed, breaking cover, greeted them with joyous shouts, which the
men returned in kind.
"You don't come to much," exclaimed Ned, "but we can say to you that
never were men more welcome."
"Which I beg to repeat and emphasize," said Obed White.
"Speak a little louder," said the foremost of the men, leaning from his
horse and couching one hand behind his ear.
Ned repeated his words in a much stronger tone, and the man nodded and
smiled. Ned looked at him with the greatest interest. He was of middle
age and medium size. Hair and eyes were intensely black, and his
complexion was like dark leather. Dressed in Indian costume he could
readily have passed for a warrior. Yet this man had come from the far
northern state of New York, and it was only the burning suns of the
Texas and North Mexican plains that had turned him to his present
darkness.
"Glad to meet you, my boy," he said, leaning from his horse and holding
out a powerful hand, burnt as dark as his face. "My name's Smith,
Erastus Smith."
Ned grasped his hand eagerly. This was the famous "Deaf" Smith--destined
to become yet more famous--although they generally pronounced it D-e-e-f
in Texas.
"Guess we didn't come out of season," said Smith with a smile.
"You certainly didn't," broke in Obed. "There's a time for all things,
and this was your time!"
"I believe they're real glad to see us. Don't you think so, Jim?" said
Smith with a smile.
The man whom he called Jim had been sitting on his horse, silent, and he
remained silent yet, but he nodded in reply. Ned's gaze traveled to him
and he was certainly a striking figure. He was over six feet in height,
with large blue eyes and fair hair. His expression was singularly
gentle and mild, but his appearance nevertheless, both face and figure,
indicated unusual strength. Obed had not noticed him before, but now he
exclaimed joyfully:
"Why, it's Colonel Jim Bowie! Jim, it's me, Obed White! Shake hands!"
"So it is you, Obed," said the redoubtable Bowie, "and here we shake."
The hands of the two met in a powerful clasp. Then they all dismounted
and another man, short and thick, shook Obed by the hand and called him
by his first name. He was Henry Karnes, the Tennesseean, great scout and
famous borderer of the Texas plains.
Ned looked with admiration at these men, whose names were great to him.
On the wild border where life depended almost continually upon skill and
quickness with weapons, "Deaf" Smith, Jim Bowie and Henry Karnes were
already heroes to youth. Ned thrilled. He was here with his own people,
and with the greatest of them. He had finished his long journey and he
was with the Texans. The words shaped themselves again and again in his
brain, the Texans! the Texans! the Texans!
"You two seem to have given the Lipans a lot of trouble," said Bowie,
looking at the two fallen warriors.
"We were putting all the obstacles we could in the way of what they
wanted," said Obed modestly, "but we don't know what would have happened
if you hadn't come. Those fellows had been following us for days, and
they must have had some idea that you were near, or they would have
waited still longer."
"They must not have known that we were as near as we were," said Bowie,
"or they would not have invited our attack. We heard the firing and
galloped to it at once. But you two need something better than talk."
He broke off suddenly, because Ned had sat down on one of the logs,
looking white and ill. The collapse had come after so many terrible
trials and privations, and not even his will could hold him.
"Here, you take a drink of this water, it's good and cold," said "Deaf"
Smith kindly as he held out a canteen. "I reckon that no boy has ever
passed through more than you have, and if there's any hero you are one."
"Good words," said Bowie.
Ned smiled. These words were healing balm to his pride. To be praised
thus by these famous Texans was ample reward. Besides, he had great and
vital news to all, and he knew that Obed would wait for him to tell it.
"I think," said Bowie, "that we'd better camp for the night in the clump
of trees that served you two so well, and, before it's dark, we'll look
around and see what spoil is to be had."
They found three rifles that had been dropped by slain or wounded
Lipans, and they were well pleased to get them, as rifles were about to
become the most valuable of all articles in Texas. They also recovered
Ned and Obed's horses, which the Indians had left in the valley,
evidently expecting to take them away, when they secured the scalps of
the two fugitives.
Ned, after the cold water and a little rest, fully recovered his
strength and poise, but the men would not let him do any work, telling
him that he had already done his share. So he sat on his log and watched
them as they prepared camp and supper. Besides being the Texans and his
own people, to whom he had come after the long journey of perils, they
made a wonderful appeal. These were the bold riders, the dauntless, the
fearless. He would not find here the pliancy, the cunning, the craft and
the dark genius of Santa Anna, but he would find men who talked
straight, who shot straight, and who feared nobody.
They were sixteen in number, and all were clad wholly in buckskin, with
fur caps upon their heads. They were heavily armed, every man carrying
at least a rifle, a pistol, and a formidable knife, invented by Bowie.
All were powerful physically, and every face had been darkened by the
sun. Ned felt that such a group as this was a match for a hundred
Mexicans or Lipans.
They worked dextrously and rapidly, unsaddling their horses and
tethering them where they could graze in the open, drawing up the dead
wood until it made a heap which was quickly lighted, and then cooking
strips of venison over the coals. There was so much life, so much
cheerfulness, and so much assurance of strength and invincibility that
Ned began to feel as if he did not have a care left. All the men already
called him Ned, and he felt that every one of them was his friend.
Karnes put a strip of venison on the sharp end of a stick, and broiled
it over the blaze. It gave out a singularly appetizing odor, and when it
was done he extended it to the boy.
"Here, Ned," he said, "take this on the end of your knife and eat it.
I'll wager that you haven't had any good warm victuals for a week, and
it will taste mighty well."
Ned ate it and asked for more. He would have done his own cooking, but
they would not let him. They seemed to take a pleasure in helping him,
and, used as they were to hardships and danger, they admired all the
more the tenacity and courage that had brought a boy so far.
"We can promise you one thing, Ned," said "Deaf" Smith. "We'll see that
you and Obed have a full night's good sleep and I guess you'll like
that about as much as a big supper."
"We certainly will," said Obed. "Sleep has got a lot of knitting to do
in my case."
"The same is true of me," said Ned, who had now eaten about all he
wanted, "but before I roll up in the blankets I want to say something to
you men."
His voice had suddenly become one of great gravity, and, despite his
youth, it impressed them. The darkness had now come, but the fire made a
center of light. They had put themselves in easy attitudes about it,
while the horses grazed just beyond them.
"I come from Texas myself," said Ned, "although I was born in Missouri.
My parents are dead, and I thought I could make my way in Texas. I met
Mr. Austin who is related to me, and he was good to me more than once.
When he went to Mexico to talk with the rulers there about our troubles
I went with him. I was a prisoner with him in the City of Mexico, and I
often saw the dictator, Santa Anna, and his brother-in-law, General
Cos."
Ned paused and a deep "Ah!" came from the men. They felt from his face
and manner that he was telling no idle tale.
"They said many fine words to Mr. Austin," said Ned, "and always they
promised that they were going to do great things for Texas. But much
time passed and they did nothing. Also they kept Mr. Austin a prisoner.
Then I escaped. I believed that they were preparing to attack Texas. I
was right. I was recaptured and both President Santa Anna and General
Cos told me so. They told me because they did not believe I could escape
again, as they sent me to one of the submarine dungeons under the castle
of San Juan de Ulua. But even under the sea I found a friend, Obed
here, and we escaped together. We have since seen the army of General
Cos, and it is marching straight upon Texas. Santa Anna means to crush
us and to execute all our leaders."
Again came that deep murmurous "Ah!" and now it was full of anger and
defiance.
"You say you saw the army of Cos?" asked Bowie.
"Yes," replied Ned, "I saw it before I was taken to the castle of San
Juan de Ulua and afterward in Northern Mexico, marching straight toward
Texas. It is a large force, cannon and lancers, horse and foot."
"And so Santa Anna has been lulling us with promises, while sending an
army to destroy us."
Bowie's tone, so gentle and mild before, grew hard and bitter. The
firelight flickered across his face and to Ned the blue eyes looked as
cold and relentless as death. He had heard strange stories of this man,
tales of desperate combats in Mississippi and Louisiana, and he believed
now that they were true. He could see the daring and determined soul
behind the blue eyes.
While Ned was talking "Deaf" Smith was leaning forward with his hand
behind his ear. When the story was finished the dark face grew still
darker, but he said nothing. The others, too, were silent but Ned knew
their minds. It was a singular little company drawn from different
American states, some from the far north, but all alike in their
devotion to the vague region then known as Texas.
"I think, Ned," said Bowie, "that you have served Texas well. We have
been divided among ourselves. Many have believed in propitiating Santa
Anna and Mexico, but how can you propitiate a tiger that is about to
devour you? We cannot trust Mexico, and we cannot trust Santa Anna.
Your message settles all doubt and gives us time to arm. Thank God we
refused to give up our rifles, because we are going to need them more
than anything else on earth. It was surely more than luck that brought
us this way. We came down here, Ned, on an expedition, half for hunting
and half for scouting, and we've found more than we expected. We must
start for Texas in the morning. Is it not so, boys?"
"Yes," they answered all together.
"Then, Ned," said Bowie, "you can tell your story to Sam Houston and all
our leaders, and I think I know what they will say. We are few, but
Santa Anna and all Mexico cannot ride over Texas. And now it's time for
you and Obed to go to sleep. I should think that after being chased
nearly a week you'd be glad to rest."
"We are," said Obed, answering for them both, "and once more we want to
thank you. If you hadn't come the Lipans would certainly have got us."
The night, as usual, was chilly, and Ned spread his blankets in front of
the fire. His saddle formed a pillow for his head, and with one blanket
beneath him, another above him, and the stalwart Texans all about him,
he felt a deep peace, nay more, a great surge of triumph. He had made
his way through everything. Santa Anna and Cos could not attack the
Texans, unwarned. Neither Mexicans nor Lipans, neither prisons nor
storms nor deserts had been able to stop him.
After the triumphant leap of his blood the great peace possessed him
entirely. His mind and body relaxed completely. His eyelids drooped and
the flames danced before him. The figures of the men became dusky.
Sometimes he saw them and sometimes he did not. Then everything
vanished, and he fell into a long and sound sleep.
While Ned and Obed slept, the Texans conferred earnestly. They knew that
every word Ned had told was true, and they felt that the trouble between
Texas and Mexico had now come to a head. It must be war. They were fully
aware of the fearful odds, but they did not believe the Texans would
flinch. Three or four rode a long distance around the camp and scouted
carefully. But, as they had expected, they saw no sign of the Lipans,
who undoubtedly were still fleeing southward, carrying in their hearts a
healthy fear of the long rifles of the Texans.
After the scouts came back most of the men went to sleep, but Bowie and
"Deaf" Smith watched all through the night. Ned moved a little toward
the morning and displaced the blanket that lay over him. Bowie gently
put it back.
"He's a good boy as well as a brave one," he said to Smith, "and we owe
him a lot."
"Never a doubt of that," said Smith, "and he'll be with us in the coming
struggle."
When Ned awoke the dawn was barely showing, but all the horses,
including his own, were saddled and ready. They ate a brief breakfast,
and then they galloped northward over a good country. They did not
trouble to look for the army of Cos, as they knew that it was coming and
it was their object to spread the alarm as soon as possible through all
the Texas settlements. Ned, refreshed and strong, was in the center of
the troop and he rode with a light heart. Obed was on one side of him,
and "Deaf" Smith on the other.
"To-night," said Smith, "we water our horses in the Rio Grande."
"And then ho for Texas!" said Obed.
On they sped, their even pace unbroken until noon, when they made a
short rest for food and water. Then they sped north once more, Bowie,
Smith and Karnes leading the way. They said very little now, but every
one in the group was thinking of the scattered Texans, of the women and
children in the little cabins beyond the Rio Grande, harried already by
Comanches and Lipans and now threatened by a great Mexican force. They
had come from different states and often they were of differing
counsels, but a common danger would draw them together. It was
significant that Smith, the New Yorker, and Bowie, the Georgian, rode
side by side.
All through the hot sun of the afternoon they rode on. Twilight found
them still riding. Far in the night they waded and swam the Rio Grande,
and the next morning they stood on the soil that now is Texas.