THE OLD CASH-BOX.
The morning sun of the next day was well up in the sky before it could
manage to look in over the bushes and find out what was going on around
the pond and the ruins. Long before that, however, a bright young face
of a dusky-red tint came to the side of a sumach-bush and peered out a
little anxiously. Nothing living was to be seen excepting a mule at
the end of a lariat and pin. As if satisfied by what he saw, the young
redskin disappeared, but he shortly came out again, leading a pony.
Another pin was driven to hold the pony's lariat, but the two animals
were not picketed near each other. They belonged to different tribes
and they might be at war.
Then once more Red Wolf glanced swiftly in all directions. He saw a
large rabbit sitting still and looking at the mule, but he did not see
any Tetzcatl.
"Heap water," he remarked, and he at once went to the margin of the
pond. He took a long draught. It was pure, but he could not say that
it was very cold. "Ugh!" he exclaimed, as he threw aside his weapons
and took off his buckskins.
In he waded, but the pond grew deeper a few yards out, and he dashed
ahead in a manner that proved him a tip-top swimmer. Such a morning
bath was a rare luxury, but, as soon as he had paddled around long
enough, he swam ashore and sat down to dry. Perhaps it was also for a
thinking spell, and he had quite a number of things to think of. One
among them came to the front pretty soon, and he put on his small
allowance of clothing. Then he picked up his lance, his bow, and his
arrows and walked toward the _adobe_. He found it as empty as he
expected, and he at once stirred up the fire. There was plenty of
venison, and he knew nothing at all about bread, coffee, and the other
superfluous accompaniments of a white man's breakfast.
What, indeed, could be better for an already celebrated Lipan warrior,
intending to be a chief some day, than a whole pond of water, very
nearly a whole deer, and a good fire to cook by?
He was satisfied thus far, but there was one trait of his character
which had been showing itself ceaselessly. Red Wolf was a born
investigator. It was something more than mere curiosity. It worked
well, too, with all his training as a hunter and as a warrior, for it
led him to try and find out the meaning, if it had any, of every thing
and circumstance he might happen to meet. His eyes were hardly ever
quiet, and they were a very keen, penetrating pair of eyes.
He broiled and ate his last cutlet, went to the pond for a draught, and
then he set himself to a close study of the ruins. He went from one to
another of them rapidly at first, until he was able to say of them,
counting upon his fingers,--
"Heap old fort. Many lodges. No big gun. Heap fight one day."
What he meant by that was that in several places he had discovered
skulls and bones, which told of men who had fallen there with none to
care for their burial. Some of these were inside of the walls of the
houses. Others were scattered in the open. All were dry, white,
decayed, ready to crumble entirely.
The first inspection had been of a hasty kind, as if for fear of
interruption. When it was over, Red Wolf stood still for a moment, and
stared at the openings in the chaparral. Somebody, an old man with
white hair, for instance, ought to be coming out at one of them at
about this time. Why did he not come?
"Great Bear in bushes," he remarked. "Heap Comanche. Big Knife come.
Texan. Red Wolf want Tetzcatl."
He could not have him right away, that was plain, however much he might
want him. So he turned to the ruins for another search, and this time
he went more slowly, and scrutinized with greater care every square
foot of each in turn.
Nothing could have been left in any of them, of course, but he was on
the lookout for "sign." There seemed to be none for him to read, until
at last, in one of the most completely broken quadrangles of old walls,
he stood still and uttered a loud "Ugh!" of astonishment.
"Hole in wall," he said. "Heap dollar."
A considerable mass of _adobe_ had been shattered in falling. Just
under its former base there had been a kind of brickwork box. It had
been built over so as to conceal it completely, but it had never been
provided with either door or lid. In it had been placed a number of
deerskin bags. One of these had split in falling, and there on the
ground lay a number of silver coins. They were Spanish-Mexican
dollars, halves, quarters, all more or less blackened by corrosion,
exposed as they were to rain and sun, but all as good as ever.
Red Wolf had seen silver money, and any coin was to him a "dollar," but
it was a matter concerning which he knew very little. It was
altogether "white man's medicine," and of a very powerful kind. He
knew that, at least, and his next thought was uttered aloud.
"Tetzcatl not see dollars. No find. Red Wolf talk to Big Knife.
Great chief know. Heap take."
Very strong was his convictions that if Tetzcatl had at any time
discovered that stuff, he would have hidden it again or carried it
away. He did not regard the Tlascalan as his friend by any means, nor
did he consider him as any kind of white man. Colonel Bowie was his
chief just at this time, and he would know what to do with dollars.
Therefore there could be no hesitation as to the right course to be
pursued. Somehow or other this affair was to be reported to the Texan
hero and to him only.
All that Red Wolf said or did, nevertheless, brought clearly out a
well-known trait of savage character. That is, he had no clear idea of
"value," and so he was not ready for "money." All of his thorough
education as a brave of the Lipans had not taught him to count. He
would have been as poor a hand at a bargain as if he had been a whole
council of great chiefs selling half a new State to the agents of the
United States.
His most exciting idea concerning his discovery was that he had found
something which he believed would be of especial interest to Big Knife.
He gathered the scattered coins and put them into the hole. He lifted
the uppermost bags to find out how heavy they were, but he did not open
any of them. He put down the last bag that he lifted with a low-toned
exclamation of "heap medicine," as if it awed him.
Only a few minutes of work were then required to cover the opening with
fragments of _adobe_. After that the young treasure-finder, who did
not know what he had found, turned and walked away toward the pond.
He must have been thinking of other matters while he walked, for he
turned quickly and went to his mustang. Up came the lariat-pin, and
once more the sorrel, after being watered was led into the greater
security of the chaparral.
"No Tetzcatl come," he remarked, as he went. "Too many Comanche."
He had been a reckless, foolhardy young fellow, and he said so, in
remaining so long out of cover, when he knew what enemies were hunting
for him. He tethered the pony and found for himself a thicket from
which he had a good view of the pond and its surroundings. No smoke
was now arising from the _adobe_.
Patiently, silently, he lay and waited and an hour passed slowly by.
Then he suddenly crouched lower and fitted an arrow to his bow-string.
"Ugh!" he said. "Horse foot come!"
More than one set of hoofs was falling upon the soft sand of a pathway
near him, but only a faint sound was made after their gait changed from
a "lope" or canter to a slow walk. At the moment when this was done
four pairs of eyes were swiftly scanning the open. Low-voiced
exclamations indicated that they had discovered something altogether
new to them, and then they rode out from the chaparral to examine it
more thoroughly.
"No Lipan," he heard them say. "No pony. Castro gone."
They had been led there by the trail of Red Wolf's mustang and the
mule. They now proceeded to search for any other tell-tale footprints,
and Red Wolf followed them with his eyes. They were not likely to
discover even the fireplace, unless they should dismount. He thought
of the dollars, but he believed them to be altogether safe. His most
troublesome thought was his pony, for if that unwise animal should see
fit to send out a neigh of inquiry to either of the Comanche ponies
concealment would be no longer possible.
"Red Wolf lose hair," he said. "Strike Comanche brave! Kill a heap!
Too many."
He was determined to die fighting, but his enemies were now riding out
beyond the ruins, not in his direction. He was only too sure that they
would come back again. It was a question of life or death that would
be settled speedily, one way or the other.
Crack! It was the loud report of a rifle ringing out of the southerly
border of the chaparral, and the taller of the four Comanches pitched
heavily to the ground.
Loud yells of rage and astonishment were uttered by the three remaining
braves, but they did not wait for a second shot. They wheeled their
mustangs and galloped wildly away through the nearest opening in the
shrubbery.
"Heap dead," said Red Wolf. "Ugh! Texan!"
He lay as still as before, however, during several minutes, and no
white rifleman made his appearance. The slain Comanche lay on the
grass where he had fallen, and his riderless pony fed quietly near him.
It was only one, after all, of the numberless, unexplained tragedies of
the border, and Red Wolf was too wise a young Indian to go out and hunt
around for its meaning. He untethered his pony, however, and made
ready for a run, if that should prove to be the next demand made upon
him.
"Ugh!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Tetzcatl. No Comanche."
Out from the chaparral beyond the pond walked the somewhat mysterious
Tlascalan, but Red Wolf sent toward him a kind of warning cry, as like
the croak of a crow as if a very skilful crow had made it.
Tetzcatl himself might be such another crow from the response that came
back. In a few minutes more he and Red Wolf were behind the same
thicket, exchanging reports of their situation.
The old man seemed to care very little about the hidden rifleman or the
dead warrior. Red Wolf told all other things, but he did not mention
the dollars. He did, however, take note of every square inch of the
white-haired tiger he was talking to, and he came very near uttering an
exclamation when his keen eyes detected a stain of powder in the middle
of Tetzcatl's left hand. The thought which at once arose in his mind
was, "Load rifle. Powder stick on hand. Hide in the bushes. Shoot
Comanche. Leave gun there. Ride around pond. Heap fool, Red Wolf.
Boy! Ugh!"
It was what lawyers call circumstantial evidence, but there was no
direct proof that the Comanche had not fallen by the hand of a Texan
ranger.
"Follow Tetzcatl," said the old man. "See Big Knife."
Not another word did he utter, but he and Red Wolf rode on together
during about twenty minutes side by side.
If the young Lipan expected to meet any of the rangers or their leader
at the place named the previous day, he was mistaken. Bowie had indeed
kept his appointment, much earlier than he had suggested, and there had
been important consequences.
Part of what had happened began to be understood by Red Wolf when he
and Tetzcatl came to so sharp a halt as they did.
Only a few yards ahead of them six riflemen sat motionlessly in their
saddles with their rifles raised as if about to fire. The foremost of
them was apparently taking aim.
The fire flashed from pan and muzzle, and the report was followed by a
shrill screech from behind some bushes not sixty yards away. A horse
dashed out and off, followed by another, whose rider also fell to the
ground as a second and third rifle cracked together.
"Load, boys! Quick!" shouted Bowie. "They haven't surrounded us, but
that's what they're up to. There's another!"
The third Comanche was galloping too fast to be made a good mark of,
but three bullets followed him and his pony dropped. Then it was not
one of the Texans but Tetzcatl on his mule who now spurred forward. He
had not gone to help anybody, for his _machete_ was in his hand.
"Red Wolf, halt!" commanded Bowie. "Tell! Talk fast!"
It was not easy to obey an order that kept him from striking an enemy,
but Bowie was his chief just then, and the story of the pond, the
_adobe_, the four Comanches, and all other points worth telling, were
rapidly told.
"Good!" said Bowie. "Tetzcatl's coming. That fellow can't give Great
Bear any information. Now for the pond. What we want next is water."
The entire party wheeled away behind Tetzcatl as guide, and Red Wolf
fell back among the men. He did not yet feel free to question so great
a man as Big Knife, but he learned from the rangers as they rode on
that their whole party had narrowly escaped a collision with "too many
Comanches" at the spot where they had met the Tlascalan. "We'd ha'
been wiped out sure," they said.
After that they had dodged and lurked in the chaparral, while he went
for a scouting trip to the pond. It now seemed fairly safe to go
there, but there was no certainty as to what had become of the main
body of the Comanches. Of course, after having broken his agreement to
go home, Great Bear felt it to be his military duty to destroy a squad
of Texans who might otherwise report him and bring a stronger force to
punish his misdoings.
If the pond had hitherto been one of the secrets of the chaparral, it
was one no longer now. Loud, however, were the exclamations of
surprise uttered by the Texans when they rode out into the open.
"There's no telling what 'll be found if ever the chaparral is
cleared," said Bowie. "We don't know much anyhow. Texas must be free
first, and settlers must come in."
"Colonel," said a ranger, "jest so; but no settler's goin' to clar
chaparral as long as thar's loads o' clean prairie to feed stock on.
This 'ere brush 'll stay whar it is."
"Never mind now," replied Bowie. "Water the critters and picket them
where they can bite grass, beyond the walls, or as near as you can. We
could hold that middle _adobe_ for a while, but we're in a pretty tight
kind of box."