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It seemed to Phil that the crossing of the river wasimpossible in the face of such a fierce and numerous foe, but Middleton and Woodfall had been conferring, andsuddenly the Cap, to use his more familiar name amongthe men, whirled off to the south at the head of a hundredhorsemen. He waved his hand to his three partners, and they galloped with the band.
"There must be another crossing, not as good as this, but still a crossing," said Bill Breakstone. "If at firstyou don't succeed, then try, try again."
This flanking movement was hidden from theComanches on the other shore by the belt of timber on theside of the train, and the horsemen galloped along rapidlyin search of a declivity. Phil's heart was thumping, andspecks floated before his eyes, but he was well among theforemost, and he rode with them, stride for stride.Behind him he heard the crackle of rifle shots, the shouts ofthe Comanches, and the defiant replies of the white men.
"Keep a good hold on your rifle, Phil!" shouted BillBreakstone in his ear. "If the gods whisper truly to me,we will be in the water soon, and, by my faith, you'llneed it."
The Captain uttered a shout of joy. They had cometo a place where the bank sloped down to the river andthe opposite shore was capable of ascent by horses.
"Into the river, men, into the river!" he shouted."The horses may have to swim, but we can cross it! Wemust cross it before the main Indian force comes up!"
The whole troop galloped into the water. Middletonshouted to them to keep their rifles dry, and every manheld his above his head or on his shoulder. The muddywater splashed in Phil's face, but he kept by the side ofBreakstone, and in a few moments both their horses wereswimming.
"Let the horse have his head, Phil," said Breakstone."He'll make for the nearest land, and you canuse both your hands for the work that we now haveto do."
Phil dropped the rein, and the horse swam steadily.They were now about the middle of the stream, which waswider here than at the ford. Two or three brown facessuddenly appeared in the brash on the bank in front ofthem, and the savage cry arose. Comanche skirmishershad discovered the flank movement, but the white troopwas already more than half way across. Bullets werefired at the swimming men and horses. Some struck inflesh, but others dashed up jets of yellow foam.
"On! On!" cried Middleton. "We must gain the bank!"
"On! On!" cried Phil, borne on by excitement."We must gain the bank!"
He was carried away so much by the fire and movementof the moment that he did not feel fear. His bloodwas tingling in every vein. Myriads of red specksdanced before him. The yellow water splashed all abouthim, but he did not notice it. An arrow whizzed by hischeek, and two bullets struck near, but he continued tourge his horse, which, gallant animal, was already doinghis best. Some of the white men, even from the unsteadyposition of a swimming horse's back, had begun to fire atthe Indians in the brush. Phil heard Bill Breakstoneutter a deep sigh of satisfaction as he lowered the muzzleof his rifle.
"Got one," said Bill. "It's good to be zealous, butthat Comanche ought to have known more than to runsquare against a rifle bullet."
The feet of Phil's horse touched earth, and he beganto wade. Everything now depended upon an instant ortwo. If they could gallop up the declivity before theComanches could arrive in force they would secure a greatadvantage. But the Comanches were coming rapidly, andthe fire from their bows and rifles increased. The whitemen, now that their position was steadier, also fired morerapidly. Phil sent a bullet at a bronze figure that he sawdarting about in the undergrowth, but he could not tellwhether or not he had hit.
"On!" shouted Middleton. "Give them no chance!Rush the slope!"
They were out of the river now, and in among thebushes and weeds. But they did not stop there. Drippingwith the yellow water, streaked sometimes with red, they rode straight at the Comanches, shouting and firingwith both rifles and pistols. The Indian skirmishersgave way, and, jumping upon their ponies, gallopeddown the stream to the main ford. The white menuttered a cry of exultation. They were now on thewestern bank, and the flank movement was a complete success.
"Follow them!" shouted Middleton. "We must presshome the attack upon the main body!"
Ahead of them the Comanches, bent low on theirmustangs, were galloping over the plain. Behind came thewhite men, hot with the fire of battle and urging on theirhorses. Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg rode kneeto knee, the boy between. He was wet from head to footwith splashed water, but he did not know it. A bullethad touched the tip of one ear, covering it with blood, but he did not know that, either. There was no crueltyin his nature, but just now it thrilled with battle. Hesought a shot at the flying Comanches, but they were toofar away.
"Hold your fire,"' said Bill Breakstone. "The battleis not over yet by any means. A job that's half finishedisn't finished at all."
They heard now the shots at the ford above them anda tremendous shouting. Evidently the two forces werefiring at each other across the stream, and the wagons didnot yet dare the passage. A few moments later they sawthe smoke of the rifles and brown figures darting aboutthe thickets.
"Now, boys!" shouted Middleton. "All together!A great cheer!"
A mighty shout was poured forth from three scorethroats, and Middleton waved his felt hat about his head.From the eastern bank came an answering cry, and thesignal was complete. Woodfall and the others with thetrain knew that their comrades were across, and now wasthe time for them to force the passage. Phil saw thewhite tops of the wagons shake. Then the wagons themselvesrolled slowly forward into the water, with horsemenin front of them and on the flanks, firing at the Indianson the bank. The Comanches sent a shower of bulletsand arrows upon the advancing line, but in anotherinstant they were compelled to turn and defend themselves.Middleton and his victorious troop were thundering downupon them.
The attack upon their flank came so swiftly that theComanches were taken by surprise. As their own skirmishersfled, the white force galloped in upon their heels.Yet these bold warriors, kings of the plains, victors inmany a battle over other tribes and Mexicans, fought witha courage and tenacity worthy of their race andtraditions. They were marshaled, too, by a chief who hadreturned to his own, the great Black Panther, and by ableassistants.
Middleton's daring men met a storm of arrows ambullets, but they charged on, although some saddles wereemptied. They were at the edge of the timber now, the mounted white men poured in a deadly fire. Thesound of the shots became a steady, incessant cracklePuffs of smoke arose, and, uniting, formed a canopy ofvapor. The odor of gunpowder spread and filled thenostrils of the combatants. Shots, the trampling of hoofs, the cries of the wounded and dying rung upon the drumsof their ears.
It was a terrific medley, seemingly all confusion, butreally fought with order by skilled leaders. BlackPanther had one half of his warriors to face the wagons andhorsemen in the river and the other half faced south tobeat off Middleton's troop, if it could. He himselfpassed from one to another, encouraging them by everyart that he knew, and they were many.
But it was Middleton's men who gave the deathblow.They struck so hard and so often that it was continuallynecessary for Black Panther to send more of his warriorsto the defense of his flank. The firing upon the wagonsand horsemen in the river slackened, and they rushedforward. The horsemen gained the bank, and, at thesame time, Middleton's men charged with greater firethan ever. Then the horsemen from the ford rushed upthe ascent and joined in the attack. Compressed betweenthe two arms of a vise, the Comanches, despite everyeffort of Black Panther and his chiefs, gave way. Yetthey did not break into any panic. Springing on theirhorses, they retired slowly, sending back flights of arrowsand bullets, and now and then uttering the defiant warwhoop.
Meanwhile, the last of the wagons emerged from theriver, and was dragged up the ascent. Although theComanches might yet shout in the distance, the crossingwas won, and everybody in the train felt a mighty senseof relief.
CHAPTER IV
ON WATCH
The wagons drew up in a great square on the openplain, but just at the edge of the timber, and themen, breathless, perspiring, but victorious, droppedfrom their horses. The Comanches still galloped to andfro and shouted in the distance, but they kept well out ofrifle shot, and Phil, although it was his first battle, knewthat they would not attack again, at least not for thepresent. They had been driven out of an extremely strongposition, ground of their own choosing, and nothingremained to them but to retire.
The boy stood by the side of his horse, holding thebridle in one hand and the rifle in the other. He wasstill trembling from the excitement of forcing the fordand the battle among the trees, but the reddish mistbefore his eyes was gradually clearing away. He let thebridle rein drop, and put his hand to his face. It cameaway damp and sticky. He looked at it in an incuriousway to see if he were wounded, but it was only dust andthe smoke of burned gunpowder, kneaded together byperspiration. Then he felt cautiously of his body. Nobullet or arrow had entered.
"Unhurt, Phil?" boomed out the voice of Bill Breakstonebeside him. "So am I, and so is Middleton.Arenberg got a scratch, but he's forgotten it already.But, I trow, Sir Philip of the River, that was indeed acombat while it lasted!
"The Comanches shot
With spirit hot,
But now, they're not.
"You can't say anything against that poem, Phil; it'sshort and to the point. It's true that the Comanches arenot entirely gone, but they might as well be. Let 'emshout out there in the plain as much as they choose, they're going to keep out of rifle range. And Icongratulate you, Phil, on the way you bore yourself throughyour first 'baptism of fire.'"
"I thank you, Bill," said Phil, "but the fact is, Idon't know just how I bore myself. It's been more like adream than anything else."
"That's likely to happen to a man the first time underfire, and the second time, too, but here we are on theright side of the river and ready for a breathing spell."
Phil threw the reins over his horse's neck, knowingthat the latter would not leave the camp, and set to work, helping to put everything in order, ready for fight or rest, whichever the Comanches chose to make it. The wagonswere already in a hollow square, and the wounded, at leasttwenty in number, laid comfortably in the wagons, werereceiving the rude but effective treatment of the border.Seven or eight had been killed, and three or four bodieshad been lost in the current of the stream. They werenow digging graves for the others. Little was known ofthe slain. They were wandering, restless spirits, andthey may or may not have been buried under their ownnames. They had fallen in an unknown land beside anunknown river, but their comrades gave all due honor asthey put them beneath the earth. Middleton said a fewwords over the body of each, while others stood by withtheir hats off. Then they smoothed out the soil abovethem as completely as possible, in order that their gravesmight be lost. They took this precaution lest theComanches come after they had gone, take up the bodies, and mutilate them.
When the solemn task was done, the men turned awayto other duties. They were not discouraged; on thecontrary, their spirits were sanguine. The gloom of theburial was quickly dispelled, and these wild spirits, theirfighting blood fully up, were more than half willing forthe Comanches to give them a new battle. It was suchas these, really loving adventure and danger more thanprofit, who steadily pushed forward the southwesternfrontier in the face of obstacles seemingly insuperable.
Their position at the edge of the wood, with the strongfortification of the wagons, was excellent, and Middletonand Woodfall, after a short consultation, decided toremain there until morning, for the sake of the woundedmen and for rest for all. Phil worked in the timber, gathering up fallen fuel for fires, which were built in thecenter of the hollow square, and he found the work arelief. Such a familiar task steadied his nerves. Graduallythe little pulses ceased to beat so hard, and his headgrew cool. When enough dead wood had been broughtin, he took another look at the western horizon.Comanches could still be seen there, but they no longergalloped about and shouted. A half dozen sat motionless ontheir ponies, apparently looking at the white camp, theirfigures, horse and rider, outlined in black tracery againstthe blood-red western sun. Phil had a feeling that, although beaten at the ford, they were not beaten for goodand all, and that the spirit of Black Panther, far frombeing crushed, would be influenced to new passions andnew attack. But, as he looked, the Comanche horsemenseemed to ride directly into the low sun and disappear.The hard work that had kept him up now over, he feltlimp, and sank down near one of the fires.
"Here, Phil, drink this," said Bill Breakstone, handinghim a cup of hot coffee. "It has been a pretty hardday on the nerves, and you need a stimulant."
Phil swallowed it all, almost at a draught-never hadcoffee tasted better-and his strength came back rapidly.Breakstone, also, drank a cup and sat down beside theboy.
"Here comes Arenberg," he said in a low tone to Phil."That German was a very demon to-day. He got rightinto the front of the charge, and after his rifle was emptyhe clubbed it and brought down one of the Comanches."
Phil looked up. Arenberg's face was still set in astern, pitiless mask, but when his eyes caught the boy'she relaxed.
"It iss a good day well spent," he said, throwinghimself down by the side of the two. "We never couldhave forced the ford if we had not made that flankmovement. Harm wass meant by both sides and harm wassdone. But it iss over now. How does the young HerrPhilip feel?"
"Pretty good now," replied Phil, "but I've had myups and downs, I can tell you. A little while ago I feltas if there were no backbone in me at all."
Food was now cooked, and, after eating, the threerelapsed into silence. Presently Middleton, also, joinedthem, and told them that very thorough preparations hadbeen made to guard against a surprise. Sentinels onhorseback were already far out on the plain, riding awatchful round which would be continued all through thenight.
"It is easy to guard against surprise on that side,"said Middleton, "but snipers may creep down the riverbank in the timber. We must keep our best watchthere."
"I'll go on duty," said Philip promptly.
"Not yet," replied Middleton. "You may beneeded late in the night, in which case we'll call on you, but our most experienced borderers don't think theComanches will come back."
"You can never trust them," said Arenberg earnestly.
"We don't mean to," said Middleton. "Now, Phil,I'd advise you to wrap yourself in your blanket and go tosleep. On a campaign it's always advisable to sleepwhen you're off duty, because you never know when youwill get the chance again."
It seemed to Phil that it was impossible to sleep, afterso much excitement and danger, but he knew thatMiddleton was speaking wise words, and he resolved to try.There were yet hours of daylight, but, putting his blanketbeneath him, he lay before one of the fires with his armunder his head and closed his eyes. He would openthem now and then to see the yellow flames, the figures ofthe men moving back and forth, and the circle of wagonsbeyond. He could not make himself feel sleepy, but heknew that his nerves were relaxing. Physically he felt asoothing languor, and with it came a mental satisfaction.He had helped to win his first battle, and, like the olderand seasoned men around him, the victory encouragedhim to bid further defiance to the Comanches or anythingelse that threatened.
These reflections were so grateful that he foundhimself able to keep his eyes shut longer. It was notso much of an effort to pull the eyelids down, and when,at intervals steadily growing more distant, he opened hiseyes, it was to find the fires and figures of the menbecoming dim, while the circling line of the wagonsbeyond was quite lost. At last the eyelids stayed downof their own accord, and he floated away into a sleep thatwas deep, sweet, and refreshing.
Others in the camp slept, also, some in the wagons andsome on the ground, with saddles for pillows. Thosewhose duty it was to watch paid no attention to them, but beat up the brush incessantly, and kept up theirendless circles on the plains. The somber clouds that hadobscured the morning floated away, driven back by a lateafternoon sun of uncommon splendor. The gray-greenplains turned to a brilliant red and gold; the willows, cottonwoods, and oaks seemed sheathed in gold, everybough and twig; the muddy river took on richgleaming tints, and then suddenly the sun was gone, leaving all in darkness, save for the smoldering fires.
Phil slept soundly hour after hour. He was soexhausted physically and mentally that the relaxation wascomplete. No dream good or bad came to trouble him, and Breakstone, who observed his peaceful face, said toMiddleton:
"Talk about knitting up the raveled sleeve of care.That boy is knitting up both sleeves at the same time, and he is knitting them fast."
"He is a good lad," said Middleton, "and a braveone, too. It was his first battle, but he certainly borehimself well. Now I wonder what search is bringing himout here into the wilderness."
"And I guess he, too, often wonders the same about us."
"Just as I have wondered it about you, and as youhave wondered it about me."
"But we find it best-every one of us-to keep oursearch to ourselves for the present."
"It is surely best."
The two men looked at each other rather significantly, and then talked of other things.
Phil was awakened at midnight to take his turn at thewatch. The night, as it is so often on the plains ofTexas, even in summer, was cold, and he shivered a littlewhen he drew himself out of his warm blankets. Thefires were nearly out, leaving only a few coals that didnot warm, and few figures were moving except outside thecircle. His body told Phil that he would much rathersleep on, but his mind told him with greater force thathe must go ahead and do his duty with a willing heart, asteady hand, and a quick eye. So he shook himselfthoroughly, and was ready for action. His orders wereto go in the timber a little to the northward and watchfor snipers. Three others were going with him, but theywere to separate and take regular beats.
Phil shouldered his rifle and marched with his comrades.They passed outside the circles of wagons, andstood for a few moments on the bare plain. Afar off theysaw their own mounted sentinels who watched to thewestward, riding back and forth. The moon was cold, and a chill wind swept over the swells, moaningdismally. Phil shivered and was glad that he had a watchon foot in the timber. His comrades were willing tohasten with him to that shelter, and there they arrangedtheir beats. The belt of timber was about a hundredyards wide, with a considerable undergrowth of bushesand tall weeds. They cut the hundred yards into aboutfour equal spaces, and Phil took the quarter next to theriver. He walked steadily back and forth over the twenty-fiveyards, and at the western end of his beat he regularlymet the next sentinel, a young Mississippian namedWelby, whom Phil liked. They exchanged a few wordsnow and then, but, save their low tones, the monotonousmoaning of the wind among the trees, and an occasionalsigh made by the current of the river, which here flowedrather swiftly, there was no sound. On the opposite bankthe trees and bushes reared themselves, a wall of darkgreen.
The chill of the night grew, but the steadywalking back and forth had increased the circulation andwarmed the blood in Phil's veins, and he did not feel it.His long sleep, too, had brought back all his strength, and he was full of courage and zeal. He had suffered areaction after the battle, but now the second reactioncame. The young victor, refreshed in mind and body, feared nothing. Neither was he lonely nor awed by thevast darkness of night in the wilderness. The words thathe spoke with Welby every few minutes were enough tokeep him in touch with the human race, and he reallyfelt content with himself and the world. He had donehis duty under fire, and now he was doing his dutyagain.
He paused a little longer every time he came to theriver, and forcing his mind now to note every detail, hewas impressed by the change that the stream hadundergone. There was a fine full moon, and the muddytorrent of the day was turned into silver, sparkling morebrightly where the bubbles formed and broke. Thestream, swollen doubtless by rains about its source, flowedrapidly with a slight swishing noise. Phil looked upand down it, having a straight sweep of several hundredyards either way. Now and then the silver of its surfacewas broken by pieces of floating debris, brought doubtlessfrom some far point. He watched these fragmentsas they passed, a bough, a weed, or a stump, or the entiretrunk of a tree, wrenched by a swollen current from somecaving bank. He was glad that he had the watch next tothe river, because it was more interesting. The river wasa live thing, changing in color, and moving swiftly. Itssurface, with the objects that at times swept by on it, was a panorama of varied interest.
Besides Welby he saw no living creature. The campwas hidden from him completely by the trees and bushes, and they were so quiet within the circle of the wagonsthat no sound came from them. An hour passed. Itbecame two, then three. Vaporous clouds floated by themoon. The silver light on the river waned. The currentbecame dark yellow again, but flowing as ever with thatsoft, swishing sound. The change affected Phil. Theweird quality of the wilderness, clothed in dark, madeitself felt. He was glad when he met Welby, and theylingered a few seconds longer, talking a little. He cameback once more to the river, now flowing in a torrentalmost black between its high banks.
He took his usual long survey of the river, both upand down stream. Phil was resolved to do his full duty, and already he had some experience, allied with facultiesnaturally keen. He examined the opposite bank withquestioning eyes. At first it had seemed a solid wall ofdark green, but attention and the habit of the darknessnow enabled him to separate it into individual trees andbushes. Comanches ambushed there could easily shootacross the narrow stream and pick off a white sentinel, but he had always kept himself well back in his ownbushes, where he could see and yet be hidden.
His gaze turned to the river. Darker substances, driftfrom far banks, still floated on its surface. The windhad died. The branches of the trees did not move at all, and, in the absence of all other sound, the slight swishingmade by the flowing of the river grew louder. Hiswandering eyes fastened on a small stump that was comingfrom the curve above, and that floated easily on thesurface. Its motion was so regular that his glance stayed, and he watched it with interested eyes. It was anindependent sort of stump, less at the mercy of the currentthan the others had been. It came on, bearing in towardthe western bank, and Phil judged that if it kept itspresent course it would strike the shore beneath him.
The black stump was certainly interesting. He lookedfarther. Four feet behind it was floating another stumpof about the same size, and preserving the same direction, which was a diagonal line with the current. That was acoincidence. Yet farther was a third stump, showing allthe characteristics of the other two. That was remarkable.And lo! when a fourth, and then a fifth, and thena sixth came, a floating line, black and silent, it was aprodigy.
The first black stump struck lightly against the bank.Then a Comanche warrior, immersed hitherto to the chin, rose from the stream. The water ran in black bubblesfrom his naked body. In his right hand he held a longknife. The face was sinister, savage, and terrible beyondexpression. Another of the stumps was just rising fromthe stream, but Phil fired instantly at the first face, andthen sprang back, shouting, "The Comanches." He didnot run. He merely sheltered himself behind a tree, andbegan to reload rapidly. Welby came running throughthe bushes, and then the others, drawn by the shout. Ina minute the timber was filled with armed men.
"What is it? What is it? What did you shoot at?"they cried, although the same thought was in the minds ofevery one of them.
"The Comanches!" replied Phil. "They came swimmingin a line down the river. Their heads looked likeblack stumps on the water! I fired at the first themoment he rose from the stream! I think it was their planto ambush and kill the sentinels!"
Bill Breakstone was among those who had come, andhe cried:
"Then we must beat them off at once! We must notgive them a chance to get a footing on the bank!"
They rushed forward, Phil with them, his rifle nowreloaded, and gazed down at the river. They heard nonoise, but that slight swishing sound made by thecurrent, and the surface of the stream was bare. The riverflowed as if no foreign body had ever vexed its current.Fifty pairs of eyes used to the wilderness studiedthe stream and the thickets. They saw nothing. Fiftypairs of ears trained to hear the approach of dangerlistened. They heard nothing but the faint swishingsound that never ceased. A murmur not pleasant toPhil, arose.
"I've no doubt it was a stump, a real stump," one ofthe older men said.
A deep flush overspread Phil's face.
"I saw a Comanche with long black hair rise from thewater," he said.
The man who had spoken grinned a little, but theexpression of his face showed that doubt had solidified intocertainty.
"A case of nerves," he said, "but I don't blame youso much, bein' only a boy."
Phil felt his blood grow hot, but he tried to restrainhis temper.
"I certainly saw a Comanche," he said, "and therewere others behind him!"
"Then what's become of all this terrible attack?"!asked the man ironically.
"Come! Come!" said Woodfall. "We can't havesuch talk. The boy may have made a mistake, but theincident showed that he was watching well, just what wewant our sentinels to do."
Phil flushed again. Woodfall's tone was kindly, buthe was hurt by the implication of possible doubt andmistake. Yet Woodfall and the others had ample excusefor such doubts. There was not the remotest sign of anenemy. Could he really have been mistaken? Could ithave been something like a waking dream? Could hisnerves have been so upset that they made his eyes seethat which was not? He stared for a full minute at theempty face of the river, and then a voice called:
"Oh, you men, come down here! I've something toshow you!"
It was Bill Breakstone, who had slipped away fromthem and gone down the bank. His voice came from apoint at least a hundred yards down the stream, and themen in a group followed the sound of it, descending theslope with the aid of weeds and bushes. Bill wasstanding at the edge of a little cove which the water hadhollowed out of the soft soil, and something dark lay at hisfeet.
"I dragged this out of the water," he said. "It wasfloating along, when an eddy brought it into this cove."
They looked down, and Phil shut off a cry with hisclosed teeth. The body, a Comanche warrior, entirelynaked, lay upon its back. There was a bullet hole in thecenter of the forehead. The features, even in death, wereexactly those that the boy had seen rising from the water, sinister, savage, terrible beyond expression. Phil felt acold horror creeping through all his bones, but it was thelook of this dead face more than the fact that he hadkilled a man. He shuddered to think what so muchmalignant cruelty could have done had it gained the chance.
"Well, men," said Bill Breakstone quietly, "was thestory our young friend here told such stuff as dreams aremade on, or did it really happen?"
"The boy told the truth, and he was watching well,"said a half dozen together.
The old frontiersman who had so plainly expressedhis disbelief in Phil-Gard was his name-extended hishand and said to the lad:
"I take it all back. You've saved us from an ambushthat would have cost us a lot of men. I was a fool.Shake hands."
Phil, with a great leap of pride, took the profferedhand and shook it heartily.
"I don't blame you, Mr. Gard," he said. "Thingscertainly looked against me."
"The Comanches naturally took to flight when theirleader was killed," said Woodfall. "They could notcarry through such an attempt without surprise, but goodeyes stopped them."
Phil's heart leaped again with pride, but he saidnothing. They climbed back up the slope, and the guardin the timber was tripled for the short time until day.Phil was told that, as he had already done so much, hemight go off duty now.
He was glad enough to seek rest, and so rapidly washe becoming used to danger that he lay down calmlybefore one of the fires and went to sleep again. He awoketwo or three hours later to a crisp fresh morning, and tothe news that the train would promptly resume itsadvance, whether or not Comanches tried to bar the way.With the intoxicating odor of victory still in theirnostrils, the hardy frontiersmen were as willing as ever foranother combat. But the enemy had disappearedcompletely. A brilliant sun rose over the gray-green swells, disclosing nothing but a herd of antelope that grazed farto the right.
"The antelope mean that no Comanches are near,"said Arenberg. "The warriors will now wait patientlyand a long time for a good opportunity. Sometimesmuch harm iss done where much iss intended."
"That is so," chanted Bill Breakstone.
"Over the plains we go,
Our rifles clear the way.
The Indians would say no.
Our band they cannot stay.
"As I have often remarked before, Phil, my poetrymay be defective in meter and some other small technicalities, but it comes to the point. That, I believe, wasthe characteristic of Shakespeare, also. I agree, too, with Arenberg, that the Comanches will not trouble usagain for some time. So, I pray thee, be of good cheer,Sir Philip of the Merry Countenance, Knight of theBattle beside the Unknown River, Slayer of Comanches inthe Dark, Guardian of the Public Weal, et cetera, etcetera."
