THE PERILOUS PATH.
Can the mere possession of a secret turn a brave man into a coward?
One would think not, and yet the entire demeanor and conduct of Colonel
Bowie underwent a change. It seemed to be growing upon him, as he led
the way down the pass and out into the valley. His men, too, hardened
frontiersmen and Indian fighters as they were, responded almost
nervously to his every suggestion of extreme watchfulness.
There were good reasons for it all. They had reached the valley in
peace, but no one could guess by what eyes their arrival had been
noted, or what forces might be gathering to strike a blow at them.
The dark clans of the Mexican mountains were known to be courageous.
No other men had a greater disregard for either the lives of other men
or their own. They had succeeded in protecting their fastnesses so
perfectly that the Spanish and then the several Mexican governments had
consented to let them alone. As to the latter, indeed, the short
history of Mexico as an independent state had been, thus far, little
better than the record of struggles for power between warring chiefs
and factions. Whoever at any date had been temporarily in authority
had had quite enough to do to maintain his own supremacy. There had
been few troops to spare for operations against the red men of the
North, and none at all for the penetration of the really undiscovered
country which contained such remnants as Tetzcatl and his comrades of
the cave.
"They could wipe us out, boys," was the freely expressed opinion all
around, and they were ready, as Joe expressed it, "to just sneak all
the way back, if we've any idee of comin' this way ag'in after that
pewter."
Bowie's own calculations continually went on beyond the dangers of the
road.
"I've got to reach Houston," he said, "and set him at work with those
dollars. We can make up a force to come again with. I can trust
Crockett and Travis. We can have our pick of men. But we needn't let
the rank and file know the whole thing. One of 'em might let it out
too soon. If we work still enough, we can ride across all this country
and hardly stir up the Mexicans. One big mule train 'll carry all
there is in the cave. We can get it across the Rio Grande, perhaps,
without having to fire a shot. Not that I mind fighting, if it comes
to that, but as soon as it's all landed as far as the Alamo, the
republic of Texas is a made nation. We can arm all the men we can
raise, and we can whip Santa Anna out of his boots."
It was the fate of the future that was in his mind and on his
shoulders. If he should now get himself killed, with his little band
of rangers, who would ever know where to come for the treasures of the
Montezumas?
As for Red Wolf, the secret did not trouble him. It did not seem to
belong to him at all. Nevertheless, it was entirely in accord with his
ideas that a war-party, returning through an enemy's country, should
travel as stealthily as so many wild animals.
That first night no fire was kindled, and the march began again before
the sun was up. Before the end of the next day one worn-out horse had
to be left behind.
"We'll use 'em all up if need be," remarked Bowie. "All I want is to
get to the chaparral with critters enough to go home from there on a
walk."
It was on one of those days of watchful, tiresome pushing for the men
who had the secret to carry and the ingots of gold from the cave, but
it was hundreds of miles away from them that a group of very
serious-looking men sat around a table in a log farm-house. If it were
any kind of council, the conversational part of it had momentarily
ceased and they all were thinking silently.
A heavy step sounded outside the door; it swung suddenly open, and a
voice not at all loud but very much in earnest startled them to their
feet.
"Here I am, Houston! They're coming!"
"Crockett!" shouted the astonished general. "I thought you were in
Washington."
"Well, I ain't, then," responded the grim bear-killer, throwing his
coonskin cap violently upon the table. "I didn't git beyond New
Orleans. I found a heap of letters thar, and thar was all sorts of
deviltry in 'em. It's no use to look for anything from Congress this
session, and that ain't the wust of it."
"Out with it, colonel," came from across the table. "Let's have it
all. We were having a blue time anyhow."
"Stingy! stingy! stingy!" roared Crockett. "Everybody's afraid to put
in a cent. Not a dollar to be had, nor any pound of stuff without the
dollars. You see, boys, the trouble is the news from Mexico. Santa
Anna was at Monterey gathering his best troops and getting ready to
come after us. Thar are several regiments already down near Matamoras
on the coast getting supplies by the sea. Every friend of ours seems
to be skeered. They reckon we'll be chawed up."
"Not so easy," came again from across the table. "I reckon the
Greasers have got their work cut out."
"Travis," said Crockett, "I'm glad you're here. Have you heard from
Bowie?"
"Not a word," replied Travis, "except that he and Castro had some kind
of a brush with the Comanches, and another with Bravo's lancers.
Reckon it was all right. He's just the kind of fellow to pull through."
Even while he spoke, however, the bright-faced ranger colonel caught
Crockett's eye and sent him a look that prevented further questioning.
"Time for us to be moving," said Houston, steadily. "We'll gather what
forces we can. The first thing is the Alamo. We can send a pretty
good lot of rations."
"Powder!" said Travis, with energy, "What the Alamo needs is powder.
And we want men enough to handle guns."
"You shall have them," said Houston. "Texas won't leave you in the
lurch. Go and put things in as good condition as you can."
"All right," said Travis; but Crockett was eager to learn whatever news
might be had around the table, and he lingered to get it all. At last
he and Travis walked out into the open air, and they were no sooner
alone than the latter turned and looked his friend in the face.
"Crockett," he said, "either Bowie is wiped out, or he and his men have
ridden down into Mexico after that gold of Tetzcatl's."
"That's what he's done, then," said Crockett, confidently. "He's a
critter that 'll take no end of killing. He had the right sort of men
with him. What I want is to see him back ag'in, gold or no gold, and
to have him with us when the Greasers come for the Alamo. I mean to be
thar myself."
"Crockett," replied Bowie, "Sam Houston is mistaken. He can't raise a
dollar. All we've got to depend on is the men. We'll take our pick,
though, and we can hold that fort against all the ragamuffins south of
the Rio Grande."
On they walked, talking as they went, but if they could have had a look
at some of Santa Anna's "ragamuffins" they might not have felt so
confident.
In the great plaza of the city of Monterey, in front of the church, a
regiment of infantry was at that hour paraded for inspection. Their
arms were good, for they had just been imported from across the
Atlantic. Their uniforms were new. Their drill was fair. They seemed
to be well handled. They were not by any means, in appearance at
least, the kind of soldiers to be despised by a half-armed garrison of
an old _adobe_ fort. Even the stone part of the Alamo defences might
be in danger, for a battery of heavy cannon was drawn up near them. In
front of the line were halted a dozen or so of officers on horseback,
brilliant in equipment, whose bronzed and bearded faces wore a very
warlike look.
Encamped near the city walls, outside, were other regiments and other
batteries. What could the Texans mean by their contempt for the forces
which were to come against them? What hope had their poverty-stricken
little state in a struggle against such numbers and such resources as
now were gathering to conquer it?
The review was over. A salute was fired by the battery. The troops
cheered. The name of Santa Anna mingled loudly with the cheering, and
the general, sending his splendid horse forward, raised his hat
gracefully in response. But then he turned to his attendant officers
and remarked,--
"It is well, gentlemen. The troops are in fine condition. We shall
sweep the Gringos out of Texas. Now for the cock-fight, and then we
will have a quiet game of monte at the palace."
He had pretty fairly condensed into his remarks one feature of the
situation. The sturdy riflemen of the American border were strongly
impressed with the worthlessness of the Mexican military organization;
with the dissipated, lazy character of its men and their commanders;
and they confidently expected that a Mexican invasion of Texas would be
little more than a campaign of wasteful blunders.
"If we can stand their first rush," had been said by General Houston,
"they'll break all to pieces before they make another."
If Travis and his friends were beginning to be anxious concerning the
fate of Bowie, he was all the while growing more and more anxious about
it himself. He would have been more so if the region of country he was
pushing his way through had not been so very nearly unoccupied. Here
and there a fortified town or village needed to be given a wide berth.
Strongly built haciendas were to be avoided, if they were not already
deserted. Most of them were so by reason of the recent civil wars, and
yet more on account of the destructive raids of the red men. It was a
nearly ruined country, and it was not altogether impossible for even a
considerable band of prudent men to travel across it without attracting
too much attention.
The men discussed the probabilities again and again, and their leader
was studying them carefully, but from time to time he shook his head.
"Boys," he remarked, as they sat around their camp-fire in the woods
that evening, "you're only half right. We could march an expedition
along by this route and not find a soul to hinder us, but there'd be a
whole brigade of lancers riding this way before we could get the
bullion and set out for home. I reckon they'd meet us somewhere about
here. They could pen us in."
"Colonel," replied Jim Cheyne, "I've thought of that. This is the
shortest road to come or go on, isn't it?"
"By all odds the shortest," said Bowie.
"Then it's our road to come back, and we can choose a roundabout road
to go there by. They'll foller our trail, and we kin make one we'd
jest as lieve they would foller. We kin beat 'em."
It was a kind of relief to their present anxiety to sit there and make
plans for the future. They were never tired, moreover, of hearing
again and again a description of the cavern, the idol, the sacrifices,
the plunges into the chasm, and the heaps of gold and silver. Some day
they were to see it all for themselves, and they were to take the
treasure out of the cave and pack it upon their mules and ponies. Then
they were to go home with it. They could buy plantations, build
houses, "live like gentlemen," as Joe was fond of saying, and all the
while they could strengthen Texas and help its riflemen to drive out
Santa Anna.
One of their number, however, did not care a button for anything that
they were saying. Not any of it belonged to him. All that he knew
about was the present, and all that he could feel were his keen
instincts as a young Lipan warrior with a party of white men upon his
hands. They were friends of his, and it was his duty to take care of
them. He had gone to sleep at once that evening, after eating his
supper at sunset, but not long after the weary rangers spread their
blankets and lay down their very red associate was up again.
Joe was acting as sentry at the foot of a tree, with his rifle across
his lap, but he paid no attention to Red Wolf when he saw him walking
toward the nearest underbrush.
"Indian!" he muttered. "Let him rip."
"Red Wolf heap look," said he, a few minutes afterwards, as he came out
into a place where the trees were widely scattered.
A white man might not have seen anything, for all around him was as
dark as a pocket, but upon a cloudy gloom above the forest beyond him
there rested a faint, yellowish glow.
"Ugh!" he exclaimed. "Fire burn."
He had brought no weapons with him excepting the knife and pistols in
his belt, but he was now armed better than were most Indian boys, and
Bowie had promised him a rifle.
From tree to tree, keeping among the shadows, on he went, and all the
while the glow grew brighter, until at last he could see the flashing
of fires and the forms of those around them.
"Ugh!" said Red Wolf. "Mexican. No Comanche. Heap sleep."
In every direction lay the prostrate forms of men. Standing erect or
walking hither and thither were a few who might be acting as a night
watch. A group of these were gathered at the end of the camp nearest
the young scout or spy, and he crept toward them, for they were
jabbering loudly in Spanish. They carried weapons, bows and arrows,
_escopetas_, or short muskets, _machetes_ of all sorts and sizes,
knives, lances, hatchets, clubs. They were not regular soldiers, but
their numbers made them sufficiently dangerous.
"Eat up Texan," thought Red Wolf. "No catch him. Go back."
He went rapidly enough, until Joe, at the foot of his tree, was
startled by a hand upon his shoulder. A few swift words told him what
was the matter, and the other rangers were at once roughly stirred up.
"Do you s'pose, colonel," asked Cheyne, "that we've been followed?"
"Not a bit of it!" exclaimed Bowie. "These chaps got their cue from
Tetzcatl somehow while we were on the way. He never meant we should
find out this thing and get home again. They don't know the secret
either. All they know is that we're a squad of Gringos, and that we
must be chopped up. Most likely they heard of us to-day, and mean to
strike us in the morning. We must git! That's all."
"Bully for Red Wolf!" seemed to express the general opinion of the
rangers, but the half-rested, half-fed animals were untethered at once.
"If it hadn't been for you they'd ha' corralled us," remarked Cheyne to
Red Wolf, but all the response he obtained was "Ugh!"
"We have everything in our favor," said the colonel, "now we've passed
'em. Such a crowd as that won't stir out early. They'll all lie
around and jabber and smoke cigarettes and drink pulque and gamble and
boast, and then they'll swarm in to find that we've stolen a march on
'em."
For once he was mistaken in his estimate of his enemies. It was in the
very dawn of the day, when he and his comrades might have been supposed
to be asleep, that the miscellaneous militia from the Mexican camp
"swarmed in" to slaughter the too adventurous Gringos. It was a sudden
rush, made at a signal, a musket-shot, and it was made with wild shouts
of anticipated triumph. It would have been entirely successful but for
the fact that Bowie and his men had been pushing northward during four
long hours, at a rate which had compelled them to abandon one more of
their over-driven horses.
"We've learned one lesson," said the colonel, when at last they halted
on the northerly bank of a stream which had proved barely fordable.
"When we come again we can make sure that all the Greasers will gather
behind us to cut off our retreat."
"That's what I was saying," replied Cheyne. "We mustn't try to go and
come by the same road."
"Ugh!" said Red Wolf. "Bring heap Texan. Mexican run."
"There's a good deal in that," laughed Bowie, "but we don't want to
have to light at all. We must work it as sly as so many horse-thieves.
We shall be carrying too much plunder to want a battle with Bravo's
lancers."
They were safe for the present, however, and after only a brief rest
they went on again--for life.