WILD TURKEYS AND ANOTHER TRAIL.
One day, early in February, Amos Radbury came riding back from a trip
to Gonzales with news that he had heard from Carlos Martine.
"The man has been at San Felipe," he declared, "and I have it on good
authority that he intends to claim my land."
"Well, what are ye going to do?" queried Poke Stover, who was still at
the ranch.
"I hardly know. But I wish I could have a talk with Martine. It might
be the means of saving a good deal of trouble."
"Is Martine still at San Felipe?"
"No, Gusher told me that he had gone to San Antonio."
"Then why not take a trip to San Antonio and find him?" suggested the
old frontiersman. "I reckon that is what I would do."
"I think you are right, Poke, and I'll start tomorrow," answered the
planter.
He went in to talk the matter over with his sons, and the land claim
was the chief topic of conversation for the balance of the evening.
"I now wish I had kept Hank Stiger here," said Mr. Radbury. The
half-breed had left the ranch but three days before, apparently very
grateful for the manner in which he had been treated.
"Well, one thing is certain," declared Dan, "I don't stand for giving
up the claim. I'll fight first. Those Mexican officials can do as they
please, but they can't budge me."
"Good fer Dan!" shouted Stover. "He's the kind the State o' Texas will
want in days to come."
On the next day Mr. Radbury was too busy to think of leaving the ranch.
There was much work at the cattle shed, part of which had been blown
down by a norther which had proved little less than a hurricane.
In working upon the shed the planter had a mishap. The rung of a short
ladder broke beneath his weight, and he came down flat on his back. No
bones were broken, but he was hurt otherwise, and decided that it would
be best for him to keep off his horse for a week or ten days.
He was apparently much worried to think he could not see Carlos
Martine, and, noticing this, Dan went to him, and asked if he could not
do the errand.
"You, Dan!"
"Yes, father. I know you think I am but a boy, yet----"
"No, my son," interposed Mr. Radbury. "I used to think you were but a
boy, but, since you showed your fighting qualities at Bexar, I have
changed my mind. You are but a boy in years."
"Then let me go and see if I can hunt up this Carlos Martine. I can at
least have a talk with him, and learn how matters stand."
Amos Radbury shook his head, but in the end he consented to let Dan go,
providing Poke Stover would accompany him on the trip. The old
frontiersman was willing, and early on the following morning the pair
set off on their mustangs, each carrying his gun, which was now a
custom with all of the settlers.
In those days there were two main trails, or wagon roads, crossing the
Guadalupe River. The lower trail was the one running through San
Felipe, Gonzales, and San Antonio, and this could very properly be
termed the main highway of Texas. From fifty to a hundred miles north
of this was the trail running through Nacogdoches, and across a hilly
and uncultivated territory to San Antonio and the Rio Grande. At San
Antonio the two trails came together in the form of the letter V, and
in the notch thus formed stood the Franciscan Mission, commonly called
the Alamo, which means the cottonwood-tree. Of this mission, which was
to be so bravely defended, we will soon learn many interesting details.
The Radburys usually rode to San Antonio by way of Gonzales, but Dan
and Poke Stover decided to ride through the timber lands to the
northwest until the upper trail was gained. This way might be a trifle
rougher, but it was no longer, and the trees along the upper trail
would serve to break the force of the northers which were continually
sweeping the face of the country.
The two set off in high spirits, each with his saddle-bags well stocked
with provisions, and each well armed.
"Who knows but what we may meet some Indians on the way?" said Dan.
"I doubt if the Indians are active now," replied the old frontiersman.
"They have had some pretty good lessons lately, and, besides, they know
that all of the settlers are arming against the Mexicans, and are,
consequently, ready for them."
"Do you know why I came this way?" went on Dan, after a pause.
"I didn't calkerlate you had any perticklar reason, Dan."
"I have an idea we can run across that white mustang father lost."
"Humph! That nag may be miles an' miles away from this deestrict."
"That is true. But yesterday, when I rode up to the edge of this
timber, I caught sight of something that looked very much like the
white mustang."
"You did! Then why didn't you say so afore?"
"I didn't want to worry father. I thought I would tell you,--when we
got out,--and I've done it," added Dan.
"Where did ye spot the critter?"
"Right over to the left, near that fallen pine. But I'm not sure it was
the white mustang. But it was some creature in white."
"If it wasn't the mustang, it couldn't be anything else. There are no
other white critters here,--'ceptin' it might be a silver deer, and
they are as scarce as snowstorms in July."
They were now in the timber, and moving along at a steady gait. On all
sides the ground was as hard as a rock, and the keen air was bracing to
the last degree. A stiff breeze was blowing, swaying the branches
overhead, and occasionally bringing down a belated nut on their heads.
By noon they calculated that they had covered eighteen miles, which was
not bad, considering the nature of the ground they had traversed. With
the rising of the sun it grew warmer, and, seeking a sheltered spot,
they dismounted and partook of their midday meal. They had still
twenty-six miles to go, but hoped to cover that distance before
nightfall.
"I wonder how the garrison at San Antonio is making out," said Dan, as
they sat eating.
"Like as not a good many of the soldiers went home for Christmas,"
returned Stover. "To my mind, it's a great pity that Sam Houston ain't
succeeded in organising the army as he intended. He seems to be the
only leader who thinks that Santa Anna will come over here with a big
force to knock the spots out of us. All the others are quarrelling over
politics and places."
"I don't think it's quite as bad as that," laughed Dan. "But it seems
to me they ought to get an army together."
"The leaders ought to act in concert, Dan. If they don't, their
soldiers are licked afore they go into battle," remarked the old
frontiersman, sagely. "What Texas needs most of all is one first-class
leader, whom all obey." And in this speech Stover came very near to
telling the exact truth.
The meal finished, they were soon in the saddle again, and less than an
hour later they came upon the trail leading directly into San Antonio.
There was a hill of rocks on one side and a belt of timber on the
other, with here and there a water-course to be crossed.
So far, nothing had been seen of any game but a deer that was too far
away to be brought down, and a few hares, which neither took the
trouble to shoot. But now Poke Stover called attention to a flock of
wild turkeys resting along the rocks not a hundred yards distant.
"A fine shot, Dan!" he whispered. "We can make a good trade with 'em,
down in Bexar."
"That's so," answered the boy. "I'm ready to shoot when you are."
"Let us go into the timber, and come up in front of 'em," suggested the
old frontiersman. "The rocks kind o' hide 'em from this p'int."
They dismounted and tied their mustangs to a tree. Then, with guns
ready for use, they crept off in a semicircle, coming up to within
sixty yards of the turkeys before they were discovered.
"Fire!" cried Stover, and bang! bang! went the two guns, one directly
after the other. They had loaded with large shot, and five turkeys
fell, two killed outright and the others badly wounded. Rushing in,
Stover quickly caught the wounded ones and wrung their necks.
[Illustration: "'THAT'S WHAT I CALL A PRETTY GOOD HAUL!' CRIED DAN,
ENTHUSIASTICALLY."]
"That's what I call a pretty good haul," cried Dan, enthusiastically.
"It's not bad, lad, although I've seen better. I wish I could have
gotten a second shot at 'em. We might have----" The old frontiersman
broke off short. "What's that?"
"It's a horse's hoofs on the trail," answered Dan. "Somebody is coming
this way."
He ran out of the bushes into which the wild turkeys had fallen, and
gazed along the road. Just above was a curve, and around this came
sweeping something which caused his heart to bound with delight.
It was the white mustang.
"By hookey!" came from Poke Stover. "It's him, eh, Dan?"
"Yes. Oh, if only I had my lasso!" For that article was attached to the
saddle of the mustang in the timber. Dan was on the point of crossing
the trail when Stover caught him by the arm.
"Don't scare the pony----" began the frontiersman, but he was too late.
The white mustang had caught sight of Dan and he came to a halt
instantly. Then he reared and plunged and swept by, and the last they
saw of him, he was running toward San Antonio at the top of his speed.
"We've seen him,--and that's all the good it will do us," remarked Poke
Stover, as Dan gazed blankly up the road, and then at his companion.
"Can't we catch him, Poke? Oh, we must!"
"Might as well try to catch a streak o' greased lightning, lad."
"I don't know about that. He looked tired, as if he had been running a
long while."
"You are sure on that? I didn't git no fair view of the critter."
"Yes, he was covered with sweat. Perhaps somebody else has been
following him."
"Well, it won't do no harm to go after him,--seein' as how he is
steerin' in our direction," said the old frontiersman, and, picking up
the dead turkeys, they ran for their mustangs and leaped into the
saddles.
Several miles were covered, and they were on the point of giving up the
chase when they encountered a settler with his prairie schooner, or big
covered wagon, on his way to Guadalupe.
"Ye-as, I seen thet air white critter jest below yere," the settler
drawled. "He war goin' 'bout fifteen miles an hour, I reckoned. Looked
tired. I wanted to go arfter him, but Susy, she wouldn't allow it."
"No, Sam Dickson, ye sha'n't go arfter no game or sech," came from the
interior of the schooner. "Ye'll settle down an' go ter farmin', an'
the sooner the better 'twill be fer yer hide, mind me!" And the dark,
forbidding face of a woman, some years older than the man, appeared
from behind the dirty flaps of the wagon-covering. At once the settler
cracked his whip and drove on.
Poke Stover chuckled to himself. "Thar's married life fer ye, Dan," he
remarked. "Do ye wonder I'm a single man?"
"My mother wasn't of that kind," answered the youth, and then Stover
abruptly changed the subject, and away they galloped again after the
white mustang, little dreaming of the trouble into which that chase was
to lead them.