The following morning, we once more took the road, and for three days followed the course of the river, which carried us through the most undesirable portion of country we had yet seen; even game seemed to have forsaken it.

The route then brought us into the vicinity of the celebrated "Comanche Springs," situated in the open prairie, at the crossing of the great Comanche war trail that leads into Mexico—a trail that may with truth, be said, to be marked with whitened bones, its entire distance.

As we were likely at any time to meet with bands of Comanches in this neighborhood, it became necessary to travel with the greatest precaution; but even this did not appear to prevent one of the "varmints," as old Jerry called him, from boldly coming into camp the next day, without any one having seen his approach. Hal was the first who discovered him, and as the fellow was alone, begged so hard for permission for him to remain, that I yielded a reluctant assent, and permitted him to come into camp.

The fellow claimed to be very hungry, a good friend of the whites, and said he was on his way from Mexico, to his home on the Brazos, and only wanted permission to remain, long enough to rest a little and obtain something to eat.

"I don't like the cut of any of them varmints," said Jerry, "they're all natral thieves, and ez likely ez not, thet cuss is a spy. We can't tell nothin' 'bout 'em, and ther best way is, ter steer clear on 'em, or at any rate keep 'em at good rifle range."

Telling Hal not to lose sight of the fellow for an instant, and as soon as he had rested an hour, to start him on, I laid down under one of the wagons for the purpose of taking a siesta, but was awakened by hearing Hal loudly inquiring, if any body knew what had become of his pony. No one appeared to know anything about it, but I heard Jerry's voice suggest, that probably his Comanche friend could tell where it was. This aroused me in an instant, and I crawled out from under the wagon, and, calling Hal, asked him where his horse was, when he saw him last.

He replied,—

"I saw him not half an hour ago, within twenty yards of this spot."

"How did he get away? pull his picket-pin?" asked I.

"No," replied Hal, "the lariat looks as though it had been cut."

"It's plain enuff to tell who's got yer hoss; it's that Comanche. Them varmints are nat'ral hoss thieves, any how."

"Do you mean to tell me, that that Indian could steal my horse, right here, under my very eyes, and I not see him?" angrily asked Hal.

"Well, you see he has, don't yer?" replied Jerry; "and not only you didn't see him, but nobody else; and didn't he come walkin' into camp this mornin' and not a soul know it, till he was right amongst us?"

"I don't care if he did, he never could have carried off my pony and I not see him," declared Hal.

"But he did though youngster, as sure's you're a livin boy."

"I'm inclined to think you're right, Jerry; the Comanche has stolen the pony without doubt," said I.

"But how could he?" demanded Hal. "I was sitting right here, close by him all the time."

"Listen Hal, I'll give you a bit of my experience with these same Comanches," said I: "About two years ago, I was sitting on the porch of my ranche, one afternoon, and a couple of Comanches came up and asked for food.

"Manuel, the herder, recognized one of them as a fellow named 'Creeping Serpent,' one of the most expert horse-thieves in his tribe. Naturally enough, I wanted to know how he got the name; and, in consideration of a bright red blanket, he consented to give an exhibition of his skill.

"The animals were all in plain sight, not a hundred yards from the ranche door. I was bound not to lose sight of them, and I didn't; but, in less than half an hour, I saw one of them bounding away over the plain, with an Indian on his back.

"I was so astounded that when the fellow brought the horse back, I made him show me just how it was done; and ever since then, I'm disposed to believe anything relative to the thieving abilities of the Comanches, without question."

"But how did he do it?" persistantly questioned Hal. "He never would have done it before my eyes."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed old Jerry. "Didn't one of the cussid varmints, just play the same trick on you?"

"But I won't admit he's got my pony," declared Hal.

"Tell us please, how he stole your horse, will you?" inquired Ned.

He laid himself flat upon the ground, and crawled through the grass towards the animal selected, using his elbows as the propelling power. This was done so slowly as not to alarm the herd in the least. Upon reaching the picket-pin, he loosed it so that it could be easily withdrawn; all the time taking good care that his head should not appear above the top of the grass.

"He then began to slowly coil the rope, each coil imperceptibly drawing the animal nearer to himself, until it finally stood beside him; then, getting it between him and the ranche, he gradually pulled himself up, and, clinging to its side, by skilful manipulation of the lariat, induced the animal to take an opposite direction from camp, until fairly out of sight or range; when, resuming his proper position on the creature, he galloped rapidly away.

"Having seen how the thing is done Hal, I incline to Jerry's belief,— that the fellow has stolen your pony."

"I can't think that he's got it," said Hal; "and I'd like to take Ned and a couple of the Mexicans, and go out and see if we can't find him."

"We shall probably need everybody in camp putty soon," said Jerry. "Yer see thet dust down thar to the southward, don't yer? Wall, that ain't no whirlwind, ef the wind duz blow; that's Injins, and they're headed right for our camp, too; so we'd better git reddy for 'em, and let the hoss go. Maybe, though, they'll bring him back to yer. I've knowed sich things done afore now," continued he, glancing at Hal.

The Indians were still nearly half a mile away, when Jerry, handing me the glasses through which he had been looking, said, in a low voice,—

"It's jest as I reckoned; there's Hal's pony, and an Injun on him, I'll bet two ter one it's the same cusssed varmint thet was a-sneakin' about camp here, not an hour ago."

There were ten Indians in the party, who, even at that distance, commenced riding around in a circle just out of range of our rifles, yelling furiously, using the most insulting gestures towards us, and daring us to come out and meet them. It was quite evident that the savages had no weapons but their bows and arrows; consequently, did not like to come within range of our rifles. Up to this time, neither of us had fired a shot, and Jerry suddenly went to one of the wagons; and, procuring an old Sharp's carbine, loaded it; and, taking good aim, fired at a group of four or five, that were huddled together on the plain.

To our amazement and delight, we saw one of the number throw his arms up into the air and tumble headlong from his horse to the ground, while the rest instantly scattered; nor did they come together again until they were at least a mile away.

"That was a good one Jerry," cried I. "Give 'em another."

"'Twon't do no good; 'twan't nothin' but luck. I couldn't do it agin in shootin' a dozen times, with this wind a-blowin'," muttered Jerry. "That's enuff to scare 'em to death. They hadn't no more idee I could reach 'em than I had."

"I wonder what they'll do now? They must be going to try that circle dodge," said I, seeing the party separate.

In a very few moments, before either Jerry or myself realized what they were doing, they had jumped from their horses, fired the tall, dry grass to the windward of us, and were scudding away from it as fast as their horses could carry them.

Quicker than thought, the wind caught the flames, that seemed to leap fifty feet into the air, which, in an instant, became so filled with heat and smoke, that suffocation seemed inevitable. We could scarcely see or breathe; and the wind was driving the flames directly towards us.

The wagons, animals, ourselves even, were at their mercy. What could we do to escape the horrible fate that stared us in the face?

Jerry was the first to realize our danger. Starting in the direction of the fire so fast approaching, as he yelled, at the top of his voice,—

"Git ther empty corn-sacks, blankets, anything ter keep ther fire off from ther wagons and critters. Be quicker'n lightnin', thar!" cried he, as he hastily set another fire, not twenty yards from us.

In a second we were fighting the new fire with whatever we could lay our hands upon.

So vigorously did we work, that we succeeded in keeping the flames from our wagons and stock, which, in a few minutes, rolled by us in huge billows of fire.

I never saw a grander sight than the vast blackened, smoking plain, beyond which the flames raged and roared like thunder, while the dense white smoke, settling low down, partially veiled the sunlight and gave a weird, strange appearance, that is indescribable, to the scene.

"The cowardly cusses!" said Jerry, as we paused to take breath from our labors. "They wanted to smoke us out, did they? Well, I reckon, by the looks round, thet maybe they'll have ter huff it putty lively themselves, ef they git away from it. I've heerd of the biters gittin' bit themselves, afore now."

Notwithstanding our misfortune, we could hardly help laughing at the sight of ourselves, as, with blacked faces, singed clothing, and blistered hands, we talked the matter over.

Of course we could do nothing but submit, and console ourselves by wishing that we had the cowardly fellows where we could punish them.

We passed a most uncomfortable night; and, as soon as daylight appeared, were on the road, reaching the "Springs" late in the evening, and the next morning taking up our line of march for Fort Davis. This fort is situated upon Lympia Creek, in Wild Rose Pass, a most lovely caÑon, through the Sierra Diablo. It is about two hundred feet wide, and carpeted with the richest green sward, while the sides, composed of dark, columnar, basaltic rocks, rise to the height of a thousand feet. Here, cozily nestled in this beautiful dell, surrounded by lofty mountains, we came upon the white walls of the fort.

We encamped within half a mile of the post; and, the next morning, the boys and I rode in to pay our respects to Colonel Sewell, then in command.

The youngsters were delighted with everything they saw, and the sutler's store proved a great attraction for them. They seemed determined to buy out his entire stock in trade, this being their first opportunity to spend money since we left San Antonio.

Colonel Young, the sutler, informed me that a friend from Chihuahua, Don Ramon Ortiz, a wealthy Spanish gentleman, with his daughter and five servants, had been for several days at the fort, awaiting the arrival of some train with which they might travel to El Paso. If agreeable, they would be pleased to accompany us.

I gladly gave assent, and was shortly introduced to the Don. He was a fine-looking gentleman, about sixty years of age, intelligent, and evidently a man of culture. The sickness of his daughter had caused his delay at the fort; but, having recovered, he was anxious to resume his journey.

The young lady proved to be a lovely little body, who spoke English like a native, and was about sixteen years old. Her wealth of raven hair, eyes of jet, and natural pleasant manner made El SeÑorita Juanita as bewitching a little companion as one would meet in many a day's travel.

From the instant Hal saw her he became a devoted admirer, and, I foresaw, that so long as we travelled in company with Don Ramon, I need not again fear his absence from the train.

One of the officers of the fort came to me, during the evening, with the request that I would permit a young lad to travel through with me to the Pacific coast, saying that he was without money or friends, and it would be a charity if I would allow him to work his passage.

I had but just returned to camp when Ned appeared, bringing with him a bright-looking Irish boy, about sixteen years of age. As he stood twirling his hat, and resting awkwardly upon one foot, I asked,—

"What do you want of me, my boy?"

"Av yez plaze, sur, I'd loike a job."

"What kind of a job?"

Introducing Patsey

"A job ter go to Californy, shure, sur."

"Well, what's your name?"

"Patsey, yer honor; and a very good name it is, too. 'Twas my father's before, me sur."

"Where did you come from?"

"The ould counthry, ov coorse, sur."

"Yes, but where did you come from now?"

"From the foort beyant, sur."

"Well, Patsey, what can you do?"

"Phat can I do, is it? Faix, yer honor, it's phat I can't do yer'd better be axin'! There's nothin' in my loine that I don't understand parfectly, sur."

"Have you a recommendation?"

"What's that, sur?"

"Any paper recommending you."

"Och, it's me characther, is it, yeze afther axin' fur? Will, thin, I've gut it in me pocket, shure;" and, pulling out from the waistband of his pants a well-worn piece of greasy paper, he proceeded to spit on it, "jist for good luck," he said, and then, with a bow and a scrape, handed it to me.

The paper was from Captain Givens, of the Mounted Rifles, recommending the bearer, Patsey McQuirk, as an honest but ignorant boy.

I informed Patsey that his "character" was satisfactory, and I would take him along, bidding him put his luggage in one of the wagons.

He stood looking at me with a comically puzzled expression on his face, and, thinking that perhaps he did not understand what I said, I again told him to put his things into one of the wagons, for we should probably start early in the morning.

"What things'll I put in the wagin, sur?"

"Your baggage,—your clothes," said I.

"Shure, sur, ef I put my clothes in the wagin, it's little I'd hev to wear mysilf," answered the boy.

"Well, well, then, go with Ned; he'll show you what to do."

It had been our intention to start early on the following morning; but, information having been received at the fort that a large party of Comanches had been seen, only two days before, on our direct route, it was thought advisable to wait a short time, in the hope that Don Ignacio and his train might overtake us. Nor did we wait in vain; for, on the evening of the third day, he rode into camp, and announced his train a short distance behind.

This was good news for us, and we immediately commenced preparations for our departure the following day.

Hal begged permission to carry the news to Don Ramon, and I never saw a happier boy than he, at the thought of once more being on the road.

About eight o'clock the next morning we again started, passing through the caÑon, over a fine, natural road. Two hours later saw the ambulance of Don Ramon, with its six white mules and four outriders, approaching from the direction of the fort, at a pace that promised soon to overtake us.

Hal at once took a position beside the carriage, and, during the rest of the day, hardly left it. I did not interfere until we were approaching our camping-ground, when I sent Patsey back, to say that I wished to see him.

The boy returned, saying,—

"He's a-comin', but he says, kape yer timper."

"What did he say?" inquired I, in no little astonishment.

"He said, Yis, he'd come, but kape yer timper; shure, so he did."

At this moment Hal rode up. I asked him what he meant by sending such an extraordinary message, at the same time telling Patsey to repeat it.

Hal heard it, and burst into a laugh, declaring that he told Patsey to say he would be with me "poko tiempo,"—in a little while—which, as Patsey did not understand Spanish, he had interpreted into "kape yer timper."

Antelope, Patsey And Ned

The night passed quietly, and, just after sunrise we were again on the road, bound for "Dead Man's Hole," which was our next camping ground. We reached it quite early in the afternoon, and, shortly afterwards, Ned came to me in great glee, saying that he'd shot an antelope, and wanted Patsey to go and help him bring it in.

Away they rushed, and soon returned, fairly staggering under the weight of a fine fat antelope.

I could fully understand Ned's feeling of pride, as the men, one after another, examined the game, and complimented him on his success; for Ned was a great favorite in the camp; but, when old Jerry graciously told him that he was more'n twice as old afore he killed an antelope, the boy's eyes fairly danced with joy.

His greatest triumph, however, was at supper, when he helped Hal to a bountiful supply of the fat, juicy steak. It had been a matter of rivalry between the two, as to which of them would kill the first antelope; and Hal was inclined to feel a little uncomfortable at Ned's victory, especially before Patsey slyly suggested, that, ef he hadn't kilt an antichoke, he'd got a dear beyant, and that was betther than a dozen artichokes.

When I made my usual round of the camp, before going to bed, Jerry was not to be found; so I concluded to sit up until his return.

Half an hour later he came in, informing me that "he'd heerd a coyote bark four or five times rather suspiciously nigh camp, and had been out to reconnoitre, thinkin' p'raps it was an Injun signal; but, havin' seen more or less of the critters prowlin' about, he rekconed it was all right."

Commending him for his care and watchfulness, and, assured by his confident manner that there was no danger, I "turned in," and soon fell asleep. How long I had slept I could not tell, but I was awakened by a sound that sent a thrill of terror to my heart, and caused the blood to curdle in my veins; for it was the terrible war-whoop ringing in my ears, so close and distinct, that it seemed to be in my very tent.

I sprang into a sitting posture, and hurriedly looked about me. I saw Hal's and Ned's frightened faces, then seized my rifle and rushed out. As I passed through the door of the tent, I received a blow that felled me to the earth. When I recovered my senses, I found the camp a scene of dire confusion: every one was hurrying hither and thither, giving orders, and talking in the wildest manner. I caught sight of Don Ramon, bare-headed, barefooted, and half clad, wringing his hands and calling in frenzied tones for his darling Juanita. Hal was talking loudly one minute, and, the next, crying, while Ned was vainly attempting to pacify him.

As Ned appeared to be the coolest person in sight, I asked him the cause of the commotion, and learned that the Indians had attacked Don Ramon's camp, and carried off his daughter and her maid, prisoners.

---

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Clyx.com