The Lost Gold of the Montezumas: A Story of the Alamo

He had the entire sympathy of his hungry comrades, and they did not have to wait long. The fire was hardly up in good shape before the two hunters rode in, bringing the best pieces of a fine "bufler."

"Now we're all right for rations," said Jim Cheyne; "but I'd like to know what's went with that young Lipan wolf."

Every man glanced quickly around him, but the son of Castro was nowhere to be seen. He had been as ready for his supper as any white man, but stronger than anything else was his feeling that he was on his first war-path. He was a brave of the Lipans, with a new name and a new knife. He had already won some glory and he was burning for more. As for even buffalo "hump," a Lipan warrior who could not go without his dinner had never yet been heard of.

He had mounted silently, therefore, and had galloped away, straight back, along the line by which he had first come to the grove and spring. He and his pony had been watered, and the latter had nibbled a little grass, but that was all.

"Comanche come to hole," he said to himself, as he rode along. "Red Wolf see."

The plan in his head seemed to include nothing more than scouting duty, but this was of a peculiar and dangerous kind.

The shadows were deepening in the groves and on the prairie when Red Wolf reached the sink-hole, but he was able to examine it carefully. The sides of the funnel-shaped hollow were not too steep in some places, and he led his mustang half-way down. He picketed him there, upon a slope where he could stand, a little uncomfortably, and pick grass, which was greener than any on the outside prairie. As soon as this was cared for, Red Wolf went up again and stationed himself by the boulder. There was quite enough granite for one watcher to hide behind.

"Ugh!" he said. "Texan too much fire. Comanche find camp. Where Big Knife?"

It required eyes like his to detect, at that distance, a few faint sparks which had floated up above the trees and an exceedingly dull glow of light that was just then showing.

"Texan heap fool!" he exclaimed. "Great Bear come. Ugh!"

He hardly did his white chief justice, however, for Colonel Bowie was even then ordering the fire to be smothered as soon as the needful cooking could be done. There would be no more sparks nor any glow to betray the camp.

"Colonel," said Joe in reply, "it's all right, but we'd better jest lop down and snooze. Mebbe it's all the chance we'll git for a nap."

"Snooze away," said the colonel; but Jim Cheyne was looking around him, and he suddenly exclaimed, —

"I say! What's become of that thar old tiger? He didn't go off with the Lipan cub."

"No," said Joe. "That he didn't. He was 'round yer chawin' bufler meat not five minutes ago. I heerd him say something 'bout his mule – "

"Mule's gone," came from a ranger who had stepped away to look for him. "Tell ye what, boys, that thar old rascal's gone back on us."

"I reckon not," replied Bowie, after a moment of consideration. "He hasn't gone to Great Bear, but we shan't see him again till we get to the Hacienda Dolores. Red Wolf's gone scouting."

"That's his best hold," said Joe. "Glad he went; but they'll get him if he doesn't watch out sharp."

That was precisely what he was doing, as he crouched behind the boulder, almost as motionless and silent as the stone itself.

CHAPTER IX.
THE SKIRMISH IN THE NIGHT

The great gate stockade at the southeastern corner of the Alamo, near the church, was closed. There seemed to be no patrol outside of the wall and all was quiet within, but a solitary sentry paced to and fro at the gate, with his rifle over his shoulder. He was considering the situation as he walked, for he remarked, as if to the shadows around him, —

"This yer fort is pretty much taking ker of itself, but the Greasers don't know it. Thar ain't any of 'em nigh enough to come for it, anyhow. Ef they did, what thar is of us could give up this 'ere outside cattle-pen and retreat into the fort. We'd hev to give up the church, but we could garrison the Convent till help got yer. That's all we could do."

At that moment his rifle came down, for he heard a sound of hoofs that ceased in front of the gate. Out went the muzzle of his piece at a shot-hole, and he looked along its barrel as he demanded of the rider, —

"Who goes thar?"

"Sam Houston!" came loudly back. "Open quick! I'm followed!"

"Boys!" yelled the sentry. "It's old Sam himself! Come on! I'll git the gate open!"

"I met Crockett!" shouted Houston. "He's all right. But I've about ridden this horse to death. Down he goes! They're coming! Lancers!"

Several pairs of hands were busy with the massive bars of the portal, and two of the men had stationed themselves by the six-pounder gun that stood there, facing it, like an iron watchman.

Outside, the general stood by his fallen horse, calm and steady as a tree, with a heavy pistol in each hand.

"I've barely distanced them," he said. "Ready, boys! Give 'em something!"

Excepting for the sound of their horses' hoofs Houston's pursuers were making no noise, but they were now dangerously near him.

Open swung the gate, and the men who opened it could see the glitter of lance-heads in the moonlight.

"Step in, gineral!"

"Jump now! Git out o' the way!"

"Quick, Sam! I want to let 'em have it. Git inside!"

Altogether unceremonious were the rough men of the border in their hurried greetings to the man whom they really loved and trusted above other men. He did not seem to hurry, however. It was with a great deal of natural dignity that he strode through the gate-way. He was willing to escape the thrusts of those lances, but he felt no throb of fear.

He was safely away from the range of the six-pounder, and that was all, when the report of the sentry's rifle at the shot-hole was followed instantly by the roar of the cannon.

"It was pretty much all the grape we had," said one of the cannoneers, "but I reckon we kin load her once ag'in. Hope we gethered some on 'em."

It had been short range, just the thing for grape-shot. The lancers had not dreamed of such a greeting as that in the night, at the very moment of their supposed success. They had felt all but sure of striking a blow which would have been to Texas like the defeat of an army. They had followed their intended victim fast and far. In tracing his movements from place to place, and in this final dash for his life, they had exhibited more than a little daring and enterprise.

They were barely a minute too late at the end of their long race, but they were just in time to be struck by that deadly storm of grape-shot. Down went horses and men. Down went flashing lance-points and fluttering pennons, while loud cries of pain, and execrations, and shouts of astonishment told how terrible had been the effect of "about the last grist of it that we had in the fort."

"Load up, boys!" said Houston. "Close the gate. That's all there is of that crowd."

"Thar they go, what's left of 'em," replied the sentry.

The fort had not been left without an officer, however, and another voice shouted, —

"Steady! Men! Lanterns! A detail of six. I'll go out and see what we did with that grape."

The lanterns were already coming, and Houston himself marched out with the detail. He stooped to look into the face of a Mexican who had fallen several paces in advance of the others.

"Colonel Jose Canales!" he exclaimed. "Well, boys, Santa Anna has lost one of the bravest men in his whole army. I'm glad he hasn't many more like him."

"Eight killed and three wounded, counting him in," responded a ranger. "It's the uniform of the Tampico regiment. Canales took his best men for this hunt. Mr. Houston, you've had a narrow escape this time. You mustn't ever do it ag'in. You ort to be locked up. You'd no business to run such a risk!"

"Why, boys," said the general, "I was uneasy about the fort. Crockett told me more than I knew before, and I came right on to inspect."

"Inspect thunder!" exclaimed the officer in command, a slight-looking fellow in a buckskin shirt and tow trousers for uniform. "Thar isn't much to inspect. What we want is more men and more rifles, and more powder and lead."

"Tell you what, Houston," added the gunner who had fired off the grape, "don't you know? If the Greasers came into Texas, this is the first p'int they'd make for. They'll want it bad."

"What's more just now, gineral," shouted a half-angry ranger, "'twasn't your place to lose yer skelp a-comin'. The rest o' the boys feel jest as I do. You mustn't try on sech a fool caper ag'in. Texas can't afford to throw ye away 'bout now. Ef you was wiped out things 'ud go to pieces."

The protests of the brave riflemen were exceedingly free, but they were utterly sincere. They were freemen, talking to a man who perfectly understood them. He therefore apologized, explained, promised faithfully to do better next time, and they let him up.

Far away, beyond the belt of chaparral and the long ravine, another Texan patriot, as devoted as Houston, sat by his covered camp-fire in the grove, and it seemed as if he were echoing the words of the garrison of the Alamo.

"Arms and ammunition," he said. "There won't be any lack of men if we can feed 'em. But a Mexican with a machete or a lance might put under a rifleman out o' powder."

He was silent for a moment, and then he added, —

"I mustn't get myself killed on this trip. If I do, Houston 'll never know about that pile in the adobe hole. I'll be more careful than I ever was before."

He was not noted for special care concerning his personal safety, but he now arose and went around the camp, from man to man and from horse to horse. He seemed to be all alert, watchful. There was to be no surprise of that camp for any fault of his.

It was now getting well on into the night. Only a little earlier there had been a slight movement of the shadowy form that was crouching at the side of the boulder at the sink-hole.

"Ugh!" muttered Red Wolf, but he said no more, as he peered eagerly over the rock.

Only such ears as his could have caught a few low sounds that floated toward him on the night-wind. They were cautiously-spoken words in the Comanche tongue, and the speakers were within a hundred feet of him.

"Sink-hole," he heard them say. "No Texans there. Big Knife took them to the water. Go bring Great Bear. We find Big Knife."

There he lost several words, but it was plain enough. These were only an advance party. They had sent a brave back to guide their main body, and were themselves to ride on to make sure of the Texans being at the camp-ground so well known to Indian hunters. One of their number was to remain at the sink-hole.

"Trap Big Knife?" thought Red Wolf. "No. Heap eye. Texan sleep. Great chief wait for Comanches."

He evidently had great confidence in his hero, and he hardly breathed while several horsemen went by, leaving a solitary brave to mount guard at the outer side of the boulder.

He was very near. It was almost certain that before long he would discover whatever might be living near him if it moved. It would be useless, therefore, for Red Wolf to try to escape on foot that he might warn the camp. It would be even greater folly to go down into the sink-hole after his mustang. It was hardly safe, at first, to risk the slight motion required in fitting an arrow to the string. He must wait, he thought. But if he did, what about the Texans if Big Knife should lie down and go to sleep? Even that small party of Comanche warriors might dash in and take a scalp or stampede the horses. They were very dangerous fellows on a warpath or prowling around an enemy's camp.

"Ugh!" exclaimed the Comanche, wheeling his horse and lowering his lance.

Red Wolf's mustang had not been at all comfortable down there in the dark. He had picked grass and he had stepped up and down at the end of his tether. He had heard hoofs go by. Now he was aware of the presence of another horse near him, and he sent up short neighs of inquiry. He uttered the mustang words for, —

"Hullo, pony, who are you?"

The Comanche at once responded, —

"Where are you? Hey?"

"Horse in hole!" exclaimed the warrior. "Where Texan? Where Lipan?"

He listened a moment, and again the animals spoke to each other.

"Ugh!" said the Comanche. "Texan go away and leave pony. Go take him. Heap brave!"

It was a piece of reckless daring, indeed, to go down alone into that blind hollow. There might be something much more dangerous than a pony lurking there. Again assuring himself, however, that he was a great brave and afraid of nothing, he sprang to the ground. He tethered his own pony, laid aside his bow and lance and club and drew his knife. He adjusted his shield upon his left arm, and then he was ready.

His worst peril was not in the hole. While he was making his rapid preparations Red Wolf made his own. His arrow was in its place now, and he was almost lying flat at the corner of the boulder.

There was not light enough for long-range archery, but now the Comanche brave stepped stealthily forward, knife in hand, his shield up, and his short, hard breathing testifying his intense excitement. He slipped along past the rock.

"Twang" went the Lipan boy's bowstring, and he sprang to his feet, drawing his own knife as he did so, – the splendid present of Bowie, the white hero.

Loud, fierce, agonized, was the yell of the stricken warrior, but even in his agony he whirled around to face his unexpected assailant. He had strength yet, for he sprang at Red Wolf like a wounded wildcat.

Away darted the son of Castro, but his enemy, a man of size and muscle, was close behind him. But that he was already mortally hurt he would have made short work of the young bowman.

Back and forth among the shadows bounded and dodged the ill-matched combatants. Red Wolf had no shield, and his knife glanced more than once from the smooth, hard bison-hide of his opponent's round buckler.

"Ugh!" screeched the Comanche at the end of a terrific minute, and he sank into the grass.

He had done his best, all the while failing, but now the end had come, and Red Wolf shortly walked back after the horses. His own mustang was led out of the hollow, the Comanche pony, a fine one, was taken possession of, with his late owner's weapons and ornaments and the much-prized trophy of victory.

"More Comanche come pretty soon," he exclaimed. "Red Wolf take hair. Tell Big Knife. Tell Castro. Who-op!"

Never before had he sounded so loudly, so triumphantly, the war-cry of his tribe, but the whoops which answered him did not come from the direction of the camp. They arose from the northward and told of many whoopers.

As for the scouting-party, if any of them had turned back to assist their comrade at the sink-hole, they as yet were silent. So was Red Wolf now, as he galloped away into the darkness.

The camp was too far away for even a death-whoop to reach it, but Colonel Bowie's tour of guard duty had led him out at last to a tuft of sumach-bushes, beyond the easterly border of the grove.

Here he stood, looking out somewhat listlessly, but before long he uttered a low, sharp exclamation, and brought his rifle to his shoulder.

"They've come!" he said. "I must rouse the boys. It's life or death this time. How they tracked us here I don't know."

As he glanced along the rifle-barrel he could see dim forms on horseback glide between him and the starlit horizon. They were at no great distance, and he turned to send into the camp a piercing whistle. It reached the ear of every ranger, asleep or awake. Even the horses seemed to understand that it was a note of alarm, and they began to step around as if they were in a hurry to get their saddles on. They need not have been in any anxiety, for when the men sprang to their feet, rifles in hand, their first care was for their four-footed comrades.

An immediate reply to Bowie's whistle came also from away out on the prairie.

"That's the warning whoop of the Lipans," he said to his men. "Red Wolf is out there somewhere. Hope they won't get him. He shouldn't ha' whooped."

But Red Wolf had not been unwise, after all. The Comanche scouts were few in number and they had no desire to be caught between two fires, Lipans, if there were any, on one side, and the riflemen on the other. They therefore dashed ahead, and then nearer, louder than before, the Lipan yell sounded again.

"That's a startler!" exclaimed Bowie. "It isn't the boy! It's a grown-up screech."

Another of the full-sized startlers came, and a third, a fourth.

In, however, without any more whooping, galloped Red Wolf himself, with his prizes and his pride and his exceedingly important news.

Closely behind him followed yet another horseman, coming at speed, and, in a moment more, Bowie stood face to face with Castro, as the Lipan chief, springing to the ground, strode forward and held out a hand.

"Big Knife here?" he said. "Good. Lipans at Hacienda Dolores pretty soon. Castro ride back on trail. Find friend. Heap talk by and by."

"All right, chief," said Bowie. "But the Comanches are here. Let Red Wolf tell what he found. Quick!"

Very rapid indeed was the young warrior's account of his performances, and Castro seemed to be growing taller in his glorification over such a feat done by his younger self.

All who heard could fully appreciate, and Red Wolf had quite as much praise as was good for him.

"Chief!" said Bowie. "Men! It's mount and ride now. Heap the fire. Pack the bufler meat. Fill the canteens. Get a good ready."

He and Castro had more questions to ask and answer while the swift preparations went on, and Red Wolf was thoroughly cross-examined. There were no additional tokens of enemies near the camp, but if the scouting-party had discovered that the Texans were on guard, another party of Comanches, halted at the sinkhole, knew that they had lost a comrade and that he had fallen by the hand of an Indian. The Texans did not use arrows nor take scalps. It was a matter for thoughtful consideration, to be reported to Great Bear.

"Ready now," came at last in a low voice from Bowie. "Mount! Lead ahead, chief. We can get a good start of 'em before daylight."

It was well to have Castro for a guide, but it was mainly due to Red Wolf that they dared to stir out of camp and cover at all. But for the information he brought of the exact situation, prudence might have bidden them to remain and fight behind the trees, in the belief that overwhelming numbers were around them.

As it was, no Comanche knew of the departure from the camp. Even when the first reinforcements arrived, all that the red cavalry deemed it well to do, without the personal presence and orders of Great Bear, was to ride slowly around the grove and make sure that nobody in it should have a chance to get away. The fire was blazing high, and they thought of what marksmen among the trees and bushes were ready to shoot by the light of it. There was nothing to gain by over-haste, and they waited.

All the while, across the southward prairie, Bowie and his men rode on, and now they knew, from Castro, that General Bravo and his lancers had been seen along the line of the Rio Grande.

"We can keep out of his way," said the colonel, "but, next thing to outracing Great Bear, I want to get a sight of Tetzcatl. I reckon he'll kind o' come up out o' the ground just when we don't expect him."

"Ugh!" said Castro. "Heap snake. Heap lie. No want him."

CHAPTER X.
A BAFFLED PURSUIT

Those were dark days for Texas. Too many of the white settlers were new arrivals, who as yet were in a strange country and had not made up their minds as to what leadership they would trust. There was, indeed, a strong central body of veterans who rallied around Sam Houston and General Austin. They were the right men for a battle-field, but they had very little ready money.

Thus far, in fact, very nearly the best protection for the young republic had been given by the disordered condition of public affairs in Mexico. At last, however, the ablest man south of the Rio Grande, General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, had so completely subdued the several factions opposed to his supremacy that he deemed it safe for him to lead an army for the recovery of the rebellious province at the north.

There were those who said that in so doing he ran a serious risk of losing whatever he might leave behind him, especially in case of a defeat, but the pride of the Mexican people had been aroused and there was a clamorous demand for action.

There had all the while been war, in a scattering aimless way, and there had been threatening embassies, like that recently accomplished by Bravo.

How to invade Texas, nevertheless, was a question to puzzle an invader. There were not many points or places in the vast area the Americans were seizing that were of military value. An invading army would but waste its time in marching around or in camping on the prairies. It must find a Texan army and defeat it or go home useless.

One of the few points of importance, in most men's opinion, was the Alamo fort, but it was really little more than a convenient rallying-place. Apart from that, a scientific general would have said that it was nothing but a piece of ground which had been walled in. It was worth blockading, perhaps, but it was not worth a hard fight.

The Texans themselves did not think so, nor did the Mexicans. To the Texans it had a certain value as a stronghold, and they took much pride in it on that account. The Mexican generals were possessed with an idea that it was Texas itself and that it would be absolutely necessary to take it.

General Houston, making a careful inspection of the fort and its surroundings the morning after his arrival, was deeply impressed both with its importance and its weakness.

"Boys," he said, "if this place had rations enough and powder enough in it you and Travis could hold it all the year 'round."

"Jesso, gineral," responded a ranger; "but if they fetched big guns, they could knock them walls to flinders."

The walls looked very strong, and his comrades disagreed with him, but Houston shook his head and walked to the eighteen-pounder in the middle of what some of them called the "plaza."

"This would do," he said to himself, "but Santa Anna won't drag in any guns like this as far as the Alamo. He can't take this fort with nothing but ranchero lancers and field-guns. I must get some money somehow and put things in order, but where I'm to get it I don't know."

He went in then to eat his breakfast, and not long afterwards was riding away, with a sufficient escort to protect him from being murdered before he could get out of the town of San Antonio de Bexar.

In the dawn of that very morning a cloud of wild horsemen had gathered upon the open prairie between the sink-hole and the grove where the little party of Colonel Bowie was believed to be still encamped. That from it came no sign of life was of no importance whatever to warriors who knew how perfectly the rangers were skilled in all the cunning of bush and forest fighting.

A mist had covered the rolls and the hollows, but the smoke of the camp-fire could be seen. Once a log fell, sending up a shower of sparks, and Great Bear himself remarked that Big Knife's men were putting on more wood. He now had with him the greater part of his force, but every pony was tired, and some of them had given out entirely.

There was no special reason for haste, excepting the water of the spring for men and beasts. Perhaps the better way would be to obtain a parley and induce the Texans to come out of their ambush before slaughtering them. A little cunning might accomplish that, and so the Comanches waited.

Of course, the grove was surrounded to prevent any sudden dash for escape, but shortly after the rising sun began his work upon the mist the encircling force moved slowly nearer. The main body moved together until they were about a hundred yards from the outer shrubbery. Then they halted, and a single brave, a chief of rank, dismounted and went forward on foot, holding out his right hand with the palm up, in token of a wish for truce and conference.

The eyes of his band were upon the messenger and he walked steadily, although all the while believing himself to be covered by the unerring aim of Texan sharp-shooters. His nerves were very good. No sooner, however, did he reach the trees than Great Bear and his column moved forward again.

On strode the solitary herald of peace, or of treachery, but no rifle cracked, no mustang neighed, no Texan came out of a bush. It was the strangest affair, to the mind of a man who was absolutely sure that his enemies were there.

On he marched until he stood by the fire at the spring, and glanced fiercely around him. It was too much! His hand went to his mouth, and he uttered a whoop which brought every Comanche within hearing pell-mell toward the grove.

Such a rush would have been their best chance for crushing Bowie's men in any case, but the charging warriors found no Texans to crush. Wild were the whoops of wrath and disappointment, but Great Bear himself was equal to the occasion. His face expressed strong admiration of such a feat of generalship, and he said, loudly, —

"Ugh! Big Knife great chief! Getaway heap! Comanche tired now. Find Texan by and by."

There was no help for it. The only thing to do was to rest and to eat, for immediate pursuit was out of the question.

Miles and miles away, an hour or so later, in another camping place as good as the one they had left, the white riflemen also were taking it easy. They had plenty of buffalo cutlets to broil; they had distanced their pursuers, and they were contented.

"Boys," remarked Colonel Bowie, "we've gained a whole day's ride on 'em if we work it right."

"All right, colonel," responded Joe; "but when that young Lipan rid in last night I begun to wish I was back in the Alamo. My skelp felt loose."

"He's a buster," remarked Jim Cheyne; "but I'm right down glad his dad is here. Best guide we could git."

As for Red Wolf himself, he was sitting apart from the rest. After all, he was only a boy and all these others were distinguished warriors.