The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista. Altsheler Joseph Alexander

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      The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista

      CHAPTER I

      THE MEETING OF THE FOUR

      A tall boy, dreaming dreams, was walking acrossthe Place d'Armes in New Orleans. It was abrilliant day in early spring, and a dazzlingsunlight fell over the city, gilding the wood or stone of thehouses, and turning the muddy current of the Mississippiinto shimmering gold. Under such a perfect blue sky, and bathed in such showers of shining beams, NewOrleans, a city of great and varied life, looked quaint, picturesque, and beautiful.

      But the boy, at that moment, thought little of thehouses or people about him. His mind roamed into thevast Southwest, over mountains, plains, and deserts thathis feet had never trod, and he sought, almost with thepower of evocation, to produce regions that he had neverseen, but which he had often heard described. He hadforgotten no detail of the stories, but, despite them, thecloud of mystery and romance remained, calling to himall the more strongly because he had come upon aquest the most vital of his life, a quest that must leadhim into the great unknown land.

      He was not a native of New Orleans or Louisiana.Any one could have told at a glance that the blue eyes, fair hair, and extreme whiteness of skin did not belongto the Gulf coast. His build was that of theAnglo-Saxon. The height, the breadth of shoulder and chest, and the whole figure, muscled very powerfully for one soyoung, indicated birth in a clime farther North-Kentuckyor Virginia, perhaps. His dress, neat and clean, showed that he was one who respected himself.

      Phil Bedford passed out of the Place d'Armes, andpresently came to the levee which ran far along the greatriver, and which was seething with life. New Orleanswas then approaching the zenith of its glory. Many, notforeseeing the power of the railroad, thought that thecity, seated near the mouth of the longest river of theworld, into which scores of other navigable streamsdrained, was destined to become the first city of America.The whole valley of the Mississippi, unequalled in extentand richness, must find its market here, and beyond laythe vast domain, once Spain's, for which New Orleanswould be the port of entry.

      Romance, too, had seized the place. The Alamo andSan Jacinto lay but a few years behind. All the statesresounded with the great story of the Texan struggle forliberty. Everybody talked of Houston and Crockett andBowie and the others, and from this city most of theexpeditions had gone. New Orleans was the chief fountainfrom which flowed fresh streams of men who steadilypushed the great Southwestern frontier farther andfarther into the Spanish lands.

      It seemed to Phil, looking through his own fresh, young eyes, that it was a happy crowd along the levee.The basis of the city was France and Spain, with anAmerican superstructure, but all the materials had beenbound into a solid fabric by their great and united defenseagainst the British in 1815. Now other people came, too, called by the spirit of trade or adventure. Everynation of Europe was there, and the states, also, senttheir share. They came fast on the steamers whichtrailed their black smoke down the yellow river.

      The strong youth had been sad, when he came thatmorning from the dingy little room in which he slept, andhe had been sad when he was walking across the Placed'Armes, but the scene was too bright and animated toleave one so young in such a state of mind. He boughta cup of hot coffee from one of the colored women whowas selling it from immense cans, drank it, exchanged acheerful word or two of badinage, and, as he turnedaway, he ran into a round man, short, rosy, and portly.Phil sprang back, exclaiming:

      "Your pardon, sir! It was an accident! All my fault!"

      "No harm done where none iss meant," replied thestranger, speaking excellent English, although with aGerman accent. It was obvious, even without theaccent, that he was of German birth. The Fatherlandwas written all over his rotund figure, but he was dressedin the fashion of the Southwest-light suit, light shoes, and a straw hat.

      It was a time when chance meetings led to longfriendships. On the border, a stranger spoke to anotherstranger if he felt like it. One could ask questions if hechose. Partnerships were formed on the spur of themoment in the vast army that was made up of the childrenof adventure, formality was a commodity little indemand. The German looked rather inquiringly at theboy.

      "From farther North, iss it not so?" he asked."Answer or be silent. Either iss your right."

      Bill laughed. He liked the man's quaint mannerand friendly tone, and he replied promptly:

      "I was born in Kentucky, my name is PhilipBedford, and I am alone in New Orleans."

      "Then," said the German, "you must be here forsome expedition. This iss where they start. It iss so.I can see it in your face. Come, my young friend, noharm iss done where none iss meant."

      Phil had taken no offense. He had merely started alittle at the shrewd guess. He replied frankly:

      "I'm thinking of the West, Texas and maybe NewMexico, or even beyond that-California."

      "It iss a long journey to take alone," said theGerman, "two thousand, three thousand miles, and not onemile of safe road. Indians, Mexicans, buffaloes, bears, deserts, mountains, all things to keep you from gettingacross."

      "But I mean to go," paid Phil firmly.

      The German looked at him searchingly. His interestin Phil seemed to increase.

      "Something calls you," he said.

      Phil was silent.

      "No harm iss done where none iss meant,"the German. "You have told me who you are, Mr. PhilipBedford, and where you come from. It iss rightthat I tell you as much about myself. My name iss HansArenberg, and I am a Texan."

      Phil looked at him, his eyes full of unbelief, and theGerman laughed a little.

      "It iss so," he said. "You do not think I look likea Texan, but I am one by way of Germany. I-I liveat New Braunfels."

      Arenberg's voice broke suddenly, and then Philremembered vaguely-New Braunfels, a settlement ofGerman immigrants in Texas, raided by Comanches, the men killed, and the women carried off! It was oneof those terrible incidents of the border, so numerousthat the new fast crowded the old out of place.

      "You come from New Braunfels! You are one of thesurvivors of the massacre!" he exclaimed.

      "It iss so," said the German, his eyes growingsober, "and I, too, wish to go far into the West. I, too, seek something, young Mr. Philip Bedford, and my roadwould lie much where yours leads."

      The two looked at each other with inquiry thatshaded into understanding. Arenberg was the first tospeak.

      "Yes, we could go together," he said. "I trust you, and you trust me. But two are not strong enough. Thechances are a thousand to one that neither of us wouldfind what he iss seeking. The Mexicans wish revenge onthe Texans, the Comanches raid to the outskirts of SanAntonio. Pouf! Our lives would not be worth that! Itmust be a strong party of many men!"

      "I believe you are right," said Phil, "but I wish togo. I wish to go very much."

      "So do I," said Arenberg. "It iss the same withboth of us, but suppose we wait. Where do you live?"

      Phil no longer hesitated to confide in this chanceacquaintance, and he replied that he was staying in ahouse near the Convent of the Ursuline Nuns, where alittle room sheltered him and his few belongings.

      "Suppose," said Arenberg, "that I join you there, and we save our expenses. In union there iss strength.If you do not like my suggestion say so. No harm issdone where none iss meant."

      "On СКАЧАТЬ