The Quest of the Four. Joseph A. Altsheler

and resolve. Phil believed that he could like him, but his attention by and by wandered elsewhere.

      Philip Bedford had not felt so nearly content for many days. The making of a new friend was a source of strength to the boy, and he felt that he had taken a step forward in his great search. Fresh confidence flowed like good wine into his veins. He had friendly feelings toward all those around the table, and the room itself became picturesque. He ate of strange dishes, French or Spanish, and liked them, careless what they were. A mild breeze came through the open windows, and the outlines of buildings were softened in the dusk. Within the room itself six candles in tall candlesticks, placed at regular intervals on the table, cast a sufficient light. Two young colored women in red calico dresses, and with red turbans on their heads, kept off the flies and mosquitoes with gorgeous fans of peacock feathers, which they waved gently over the heads of the guests. Phil became deeply conscious of the South, of its glow and its romance.

      The guests, having a sufficiency of food, left the table one by one. The young man with the smooth face was among the first to go. Phil noticed him again and admired his figure--tall, slender, and beautifully erect. He walked with ease and grace, and his dress of plain brown was uncommonly neat and well fitting. "I should like to know that man," was Phil's thought.

      After dinner the boy and Arenberg sat on the veranda in the dusk, and talked in low voices of their plans. They deemed it better to keep their intentions to themselves. Many expeditions were fitting out in New Orleans. Some were within the law, and some were not. Wise men talked little of what was nearest to their hearts.

      "If we go into the West--and we are going," said Phil, "we shall need weapons--rifles, pistols."

      "Time enough for that," said Arenberg. "If we have the money, we can arm ourselves in a day. Weapons are a chief article of commerce in New Orleans."

      An hour later they went up to their room and to bed. Phil carried his money on his person, and most of his other belongings were in a stout leather bag or valise, which was fastened with a brass lock. It was necessary for him to open the bag to obtain some clean linen, and as Arenberg's back was turned he took out, also, a small paper, yellow and worn. He opened it for the thousandth time, choked a sigh, and put it back. As he relocked the bag and turned, he noticed that Arenberg also had been looking at something. It seemed to be a photograph, and the German, after returning it to his own bag, gazed absently out of the window. His face, which at other times was obviously made for smiles and cheeriness, was heavy with grief. A flood of sympathy rushed over Philip Bedford. "I wonder what it is he seeks out there," the boy thought as he looked unconsciously toward the West. But he had too much delicacy of mind to say anything, and presently Arenberg was himself again, speaking hopefully of their plans as they prepared for bed.

      Phil slept soundly, except for one interval. Then he dreamed a dream, and it was uncommonly vivid. He saw Hans Arenberg rise from his cot, take from his bag the small object which was undoubtedly a photograph, go to the window, where the moonlight fell, and look at it long and earnestly. Presently his chest heaved, and tears ran down either cheek. Then his head fell forward, and he dropped the photograph to his breast. He stood in that stricken attitude for at least five minutes, then he put the photograph back in the bag, and returned to his cot. In the morning Phil's recollection of the dream was very vivid, but Arenberg was cheery and bright.

      The boy and the man ate breakfast together in the dining-room, a breakfast of oranges--Phil had never seen an orange until he came to New Orleans--cakes and butter and coffee. Only a few of the diners of the evening before were present when they went into the room, but among them was the young man with the shaven face and the firm chin. Phil liked him even better in the morning light. His seemed the kindly face of a man with a strong and decided character. Their eyes met, and the stranger smiled and nodded. Phil smiled and nodded back. After breakfast Phil and Arenberg went out upon the veranda. The man was already there, smoking a cigarette.

      "Fine morning," he observed easily. "One could not ask anything better than these early spring days in New Orleans. In the North we are still in the grasp of snow and ice."

      Phil and Arenberg also sat down, as the way was now opened for conversation.

      "Then you are from the North, I suppose," said Phil.

      "Yes," replied the stranger, "from the State of New York, but I am traveling now, as you see. My name is Middleton, George Middleton."

      He paused, meditatively blew a whiff of smoke from the little Spanish cigarrito, and added:

      "I'm not for long in New Orleans. I'm thinking of a journey in the West."

      "Nobody goes there unless he has a very good reason for going. Iss it not so? No harm iss done where none iss meant," said Arenberg, in a tone half of apology and half of inquiry.

      Middleton laughed and took another puff at his cigarrito.

      "Certainly no harm has been done," he replied. "You are right, also, in saying that no one goes into the West unless he has an excellent reason. I have such a reason. I want to look for something there."

      Phil and the German exchanged glances. They, too, wished to look for something there. So! Here was a third man seeking to embark upon the great journey. But it was no business of theirs what he sought, however curious they might feel about it. Phil took another look at Middleton. Surely his was a good face, a face to inspire trust and courage.

      "We wish to go across Texas and New Mexico, also," he said, "but we've been delaying until we could form a party."

      "You've two at least," said Middleton, "and you now have the chance to make it three. Why not do so?"

      "We will," said Arenberg. "It iss a case where three are company, and two are not so much. Our firm is now Middleton, Bedford, Arenberg & Co."

      "Do not put me first," said Middleton. "We must all be on exactly the same plane. But I hope, friends, that you trust me as much as I trust you. I think I know truth and honesty when I see them."

      "We do!" said Phil and Arenberg together and emphatically.

      The three shook hands, and that single act bound them into a solemn compact to stand by one another through all things. They did not waste words. Then the three went into the town, walking about among the inns and on the levee to hear the gossip of New Orleans, and to learn what chance there was of a large party going into the West. On the way Middleton told them of some things that he had learned. He was not sure, but a large wagon train might start soon for Santa Fé, in the far Mexican land of New Mexico. It was to be a trading expedition, carrying much cloth, metal goods, and other articles of value to this, the greatest of Mexico's outlying posts.

      "It will be a numerous train," said Middleton, "perhaps too numerous, as it may arouse the suspicion of the Mexicans. The relations of the States and Mexico are none too good. There is trouble over Texas, and who can tell what will happen a thousand miles in the depths of the wilderness?"

      "Nobody," said Arenberg. "Who should know better than I?"

      He spoke with such sudden emphasis that Middleton opened his mouth as if he would ask a question, but changed his mind and was silent.

      "Then it is your opinion, Mr. Middleton," said Phil, "that we should join this train?"

      "If nothing better offers. All such expeditions are loosely organized. If we should wish to leave it we can do so."

      "It iss well to keep it in mind," said Arenberg. "No harm can be done where none iss meant."

      They entered a large inn kept by a Frenchman. Many men were sitting about drinking or smoking. Middleton ordered lemonade for the three, and they sat at a small table in the corner, observing the life of the place. Phil's attention was presently attracted to another small table near them, at which a single man sat. His gaze would not have lingered there, had it not been for this man's peculiar appearance. His age might have been thirty-five, more or less, and his figure was powerful. His face was burned almost black by a sun that could not have been anything but ardent, but his features and his blue eyes showed him to be American of a fair race. His clothes were poor, and he looked depressed.