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

passed, the configuration ofthe earth, and the various kinds of trees and bushes.At night he would often ask Bill Breakstone to questionhim, and from his superior knowledge and longertraining to point out a mistake whenever he might make it.Bill was a severe teacher, and he criticised freelywhenever Phil was wrong. But he admitted that his pupilwas making progress. Arenberg was smoking his pipeat one of their sittings, and, taking it out of his mouth,he remarked:

      "No harm iss done where none iss meant. Now whatI wish to ask you, Herr Breakstone, and you, young HerrPhilip, would you remember all your lessons if you wereon foot on the prairie, unarmed, and a wild Comanchewarrior were riding at you, ready to run his lance throughyou?"

      "I don't know," replied Phil frankly, "but I hopesuch a time will never come."

      "That's the rub," said Arenberg meditatively. "Itiss good to know all the rules, to do all you can before, but it iss better to think fast, and act right when thegreat emergency comes. It iss only then that you are ofthe first class. I say so, and I say so because I know."

      Only Phil noticed the faint tone of sadness with whichhis words ended, and he glanced quickly at the German.But Arenberg's face expressed nothing. Once more hewas pulling calmly at his pipe. Bill Breakstone gave hiswords hearty indorsement.

      "You're right," he said. "The Grand Duke of Germanyspeaks the truth. I've embodied that piece ofwisdom in a little poem, which I will quote to you:

      "You may lead a horse to the water,

      But you cannot make him drink.

      You may stuff a man with knowledge,

      But you cannot make him think.

      "Part of that is borrowed, and part of it is original, but, combining the two parts, I think it is a little masterpiece."

      Arenberg took out his pipe again, and regarded BillBreakstone with admiration.

      "It iss one great man, this Herr Bill Breakstone," hesaid. "He makes poetry and tells the truth at the sametime."

      "Thanks, most puissant lord," said Breakstone, "andnow, the lesson being over, Phil, I think we might all ofus go to sleep and knit up a few raveled sleeves of care."

      "We might take to the wagon," said Middleton. "IfI'm any judge of weather, Phil, the beautiful spell thatwe've had is coming to an end."

      "You're right, Cap," said Breakstone. "I noticedthat when the sun set to-day it looked redder than usualthrough a cloud of mist, and that means rain. Therefore,Orlando deserts his little Forest of Arden, andbetakes himself to the shelter of the curved canvas."

      Phil deemed it wise to imitate him, and the fourfound places in the large wagon among their goods, wherethey had the shelter of the canvas roof, although thecover was open at either end to allow the clean sweep ofthe air. Phil, as usual, slept well. Five minutes wasabout all he needed for the preparatory stage, andto-night was no exception. But he awoke again in themiddle of the night. Now he knew full well the cause. Lowthunder was rumbling far off at the edge of the earth, anda stroke of lightning made him wink his sleepy eyes.Then came a rush of cold air, and after it the rain. Thebig drops rattled on the curving canvas roof, but theycould not penetrate the thick cloth. Phil raised himselfa little, and looked out at the open ends, but he saw onlydarkness.

      Meanwhile the rain increased and beat harder uponthe roof, which shed it like shingles. Phil drew hisblanket up to his chin, rested his head and shoulders alittle more easily against a bag of meal, and never had agreater sense of luxury in his life. The beat of the rainon the canvas was like the patter of the rain on the roofof the old home, when he was a little boy and lay snugunder the eaves. He had the same pleasant sense ofwarmth and shelter now. The storm might beat abouthim, but it could not touch him. He heard the evenbreathing of his comrades, who had not awakened. Heheard the low thunder still grumbling far off in thesouth-west, and the lightning came again at intervals, but hesank gently back to slumber.

      When he awoke the next morning the rain was stillfalling, and the whole world was a sodden gray. Theair, too, was full of raw chill, despite the southernlatitude, and Phil shivered. It was his first impulse to drawthe blanket more tightly, but he resolutely put the impulsedown. He threw the blanket aside, slipped on his coatand boots, the only apparel that he had removed for thenight's rest, and sprang out into the rain, leaving hiscomrade still asleep.

      Not many of the men were yet up, and Phil went atonce into the forest in search of fallen wood, which wasalways abundant. It was not a pleasant task. For thefirst time he felt the work hard and disagreeable. Mistsand vapors were rising from the wet earth, and the sundid not show. The rain came down steadily, and it wascold to the touch. It soaked through the boy's clothing, but he stuck to his task, and brought in the dead wood bythe armful. At the third load he met Bill Breakstone, who hailed him cheerily.

      "Well, you do make me ashamed of myself, SirKnight of the Dripping Forest," he said. "When weawoke and found you already up and at work, weconcluded that it was time for us to imitate so good anexample. Ugh, how cold this rain is, and we five hundredmiles from an umbrella!"

      Phil was compelled to laugh, and then the laugh madehim feel better. But it was a morning that might welloppress the bravest. The wet wood was lighted withextreme difficulty, and then it smoked greatly under therain. It was hard to do the cooking, and breakfast wasnot satisfying. But Phil refused to make any complaint.With the rain in his face, he spoke cheerfully of sunshineand warm dry plains.

      "We ought to strike the plains of Texas to-morrow orthe next day," said Bill Breakstone. "I've been throughthis region before, and I don't think I'm mistaken.Then we'll get out of this. If it's a long lane that has noturning, it's one just as long that has no end."

      They started late, and deep depression hung over thetrain. The men no longer sang or made jokes at theexpense of one another, but crouched upon their horses orthe wagon seats, and maintained a sullen silence. Philwas on horseback, but he dried himself at one of the fires, and with the blanket wrapped around his body he wasnow fairly well protected. It was hard to maintain apleasant face, but he did it, and Middleton, whom allnow usually called Cap, looked his approval.

      They advanced very slowly through thickets and acrossemail streams, with mists and vapors so dense that theycould see but little ahead. They did not make more thanseven or eight miles that day, and, wet and miserable, they camped for the night. The guard was stillmaintained, and Phil was on duty that night until twelve.When midnight came he crawled into the wagon, depressed and thoroughly exhausted. But he slept well, and the next morning the rain was over. The mists andvapors were gone, and a beautiful sun was shining. Allof Phil's good spirits came back as he sprang out of thewagon and looked at the drying earth.

      The whole camp was transformed. The cooking firesburned ruddily and with a merry crackle. The men sangtheir little songs and made their little jokes. They toldone another joyously that they would be out of the forestsoon and upon the open prairies. They would be inTexas-Texas, that wonderful land of mystery andcharm; Texas, already famous for the Alamo and SanJacinto. The fact that this Texas was filled with dangerstook nothing from the glow at their hearts. Phil sharedin the general enthusiasm, and cried with the others,"Ho for Texas!"

      Arenberg's face became very grave.

      "Do not be carried away with the high feelings thatrun to the head," he said. "No harm iss done wherenone iss meant, but it iss a long road across Texas, andthere iss no mile of it which does not have its dangers.Who should know better than I?"

      "You speak the truth," said Middleton. "I oftenthink of that Comanche, Black Panther, whose face Philsaw in the thicket."

      "You are right to speak of it," said Bill Breakstone."I have been in the West. I have spent years there. Ihave been in places that no other white man has everseen, and just when you think this West, beyond thewhite man's frontier, is most peaceful, then it is mostdangerous. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, was a dreamykind of fellow, but when the time came he was a holyterror."

      Phil was impressed, but in a little while it seemed tohim that it could scarcely be so. The threat containedin Black Panther's face was fading fast from his mind, and danger seemed to him very far. His exuberance ofspirit was heightened by the easy journey that they nowhad through a forest without any undergrowth. Thewagons rolled easily over short, young