TEXAN SCOUTS

The day broke clear and the usual excitement and bustle of the camp was increased by the eager activities of the two hunting parties. After the morning meal the animals were driven some distance from the camp and the herd guards began their day's vigil. Tom placed the outposts and returned to report to the captain, and then added that he had something of a very confidential nature to tell him, but did not want to be seen talking too long with him.

Woodson reflected a moment. "All right; I'll come after ye in a few minutes an' ask ye ter go huntin' with me. 'Twon't be onusual if we ketch th' fever, too."

Tom nodded and went over to Cooper's wagons to pay his morning's respects, and to his chagrin found that Patience had gone for a short ride with Doctor Whiting and his friends.

"Sorry to miss her, Uncle Joe," he said. "Things are going to happen fast for me from now on. I may leave the caravan tonight. About two days' more travel and we'll be south of Bent's. Hank and I don't want to lose our merchandise, we can't take it with us, and we need to turn it into money. How much can you carry from here on?"

Uncle Joe scratched his head. "The two big wagons can take five hundred-weight more apiece, and this wagon can stand near eight hundred, seein' that it ain't carryin' much more than our personal belongings. Don't worry, Tom; if I can't handle it all, Alonzo and Enoch can take th' balance. Them greasers showing their cards?"

"It's like this: According to those Texans we met, no troops are going to meet us this trip. Their advance guard got thrashed and Armijo and the main body turned tail at Cold Spring and fled back to Santa Fe. I could go with the caravan miles farther and probably be safe; but if Pedro gets a messenger away secretly there is no telling what may happen. If I stay with the caravan and put up a fight it might end in embroiling a lot of the boys and certainly would make trouble for them if the train pushed on to Santa Fe, and it's got to push on. I won't surrender meekly. So, you see, I'll have to strike out."

Uncle Joe nodded. "If it wasn't for Patience, and my brother in Santa Fe, I'd strike out with you. Goin' to Bent's?"

"Bent's nothing!" retorted Tom. "I'm going to Santa Fe, but I'm going a way of my own."

"It's suicide, Tom," warned his friend. "Better let me take in your stuff, an' meet us here on the way back. Patience won't spoil; an' when she learns how much you're wanted by Armijo she'll worry herself sick if she knows you are in th' city. Don't you do it!"

Tom scowled at a break in the hills and in his mind's eye he could see her riding gaily with his tenderfoot rivals. "Reckon she won't fall away," he growled. "Anyhow, there's no telling; an' there's no reason why she should know anything. I told her I was goin' to Santa Fe, an' I'm going!"

Uncle Joe was about to retort but thought better of it and smiled instead. "Oh, these jealous lovers!" he chuckled. "Blind as bats! Who do you know there, in case I want to get word to you?"

Tom swiftly named three men and told where they could be found, his companion nodding sharply at the mention of two of them.

"Good!" exclaimed the trader. "Throw your packs into my wagons an' I'll see to stowin' 'em."

"No," replied Tom. "That's got to be done when th' camp's asleep. I'm supposed to be takin' 'em with me.

"But these Mexicans'll trail you, an' get you when you're asleep," objected Uncle Joe.

Tom laughed and shook his head, and turned to face Woodson, who was walking toward them. "Th' captain an' I am goin' huntin'. See you later."

"Git yer hoss, Boyd," called the captain. "I'm goin' fer mine now. How air ye, Mr. Cooper?"

"Never felt better in my life, captain. We all owe you a vote of thanks, an' I'll see that you get it."

"Thar ain't a man livin' as kin git a vote o' thanks fer me out o' this caravan," laughed Woodson, his eyes twinkling. "But I ain't got no call ter kick: I ain't had nigh th' trouble I figgered on. Jest th' same, I'll be glad when we meet up with th' greaser troops at Cold Spring. I aim to leave ye thar an' go on ahead an' fix things in th' city."

Uncle Joe caught himself in time. "That's where we bust up?"

Woodson nodded. "Thar ain't no organization from thar in. Don't need it, with th' sojers. All us proprietors that ain't got reg'lar connections in th' city will be leavin' from Cold Spring on."

"Any danger from th' Injuns, leavin' that way?"

"Oh, we slip out at night," answered Woodson. "Thar ain't much danger from any big bands. Got ter do it; customs officers air like axles; they work better arter they air greased. I aim ter leave two waggins behind th' noon arter we git to th' Upper Spring, an' save five hundred apiece on 'em. Th' other six kin make it from thar with th' extry loads, an' th' extry animals to help pull 'em." He looked toward the wagons of Alonzo and Enoch, where Tom had tarried on his way back. "Thar's a fine, upstandin' young man; I've had my eye on him ever since we left th' Grove."

"He is; an' anythin' he tells you is gospel," said Uncle Joe.

They saw the two traders waving their arms and soon Tom hurried up.

"Alonzo an' Enoch would like to go with us, only thar hosses air with th' herd," he said.

"Then we'll go afoot," declared Woodson. "I ain't hankerin' so much fer a hunt as I air ter git away from these danged waggins fer a spell. I'm sick o' th' sight o' 'em. Better come along, Mr. Cooper."

"That depends on how fur yer goin'; this young scamp will walk me off my feet."

"Oh, jest a-ways around th' hills; dassn't go too fur, on account of airy Injuns that may be hangin' 'round."

In a few moments the little group had left the encampment behind and out of sight and Woodson, waving the others ahead, fell back to Tom's side.

"Hyar we air, with nobody ter listen. What ye want ter tell me?"

To the captain's growing astonishment Tom rapidly sketched his conversation with the two Texans, his affair with the despotic New Mexican governor and what it now meant to him. Then he told of his determination to leave the caravan some night soon, perhaps on this night.

"Wall, dang my eyes!" exclaimed Woodson at the conclusion of the narrative. "Good fer them Texans! Young man, which hand did ye hit him with? That un? Wall, I'll jest shake it, fer luck." He thought a moment. "Ye air lucky, Boyd; north o' here, acrost th' headwaters o' this river, an' a couple more streams, which might be dry now, ye'll hit th' Picketwire, that's allus wet. If ye find th' little cricks dry, head more westward an' ye'll strike th' Picketwire quicker. It'll take ye nigh inter sight o' Bent's; an' thar ain't no finer men walkin' than William an' Charles Bent. Hate ter lose ye, Boyd; but thar ain't no two ways 'bout it; ye got ter go, or get skinned alive."

"I'm not goin' ter Bent's, captain," said Tom quietly. "I'll be in Santa Fe soon after you git thar. Hank knows them mountains like you know this trail. When I'm missed if ye'll throw 'em off my track I'll not fergit it." He smiled grimly. "If I war goin' ter Bent's they could foller, an' be damned to 'em. I'd like nothin' better than have 'em chase us through this kind o' country."

Woodson chuckled and then grew thoughtful. "Boyd, them Texans air goin' ter make trouble fer us, shore as shootin'. It'll be bad fer you, fer every American in these settlements is goin' ter be watched purty clost. Better go ter Bent's."

"Nope; Hank an' me air headin' fer Turley's, up on Arroyo Hondo. Hank knows him well. Hyar come th' others. I've told you an' Cooper, an' that's enough. You fellers ain't turnin' back so soon, air ye?" he called. "Ye don't call this a hunt? Whar's yer meat?"

"Whar's yourn?" countered Alonzo, grinning. "I ate so many berries I got cramps."

"Us, too," laughed Uncle Joe. "My feet air tender, ridin' so long. We're goin' back."

"Might as well jine ye, then," said Woodson. "Comin', Boyd?"

"Not fer awhile," answered Tom, pushing on.

He made his way along the lower levels, reveling in the solitude and the surroundings, and his keen eyes missed nothing. A mile from camp he suddenly stopped and carefully parted the thick berry bushes. In the soft soil were the prints of many horses, most of them shod. Cautiously he followed the tracks and in a few moments came to the edge of a small, heavily grassed clearing, so well hidden by the brush and the thick growth of the trees along the encircling, steep-faced hills that its presence hardly would be suspected. Closely cropped circles, each centered by the hole made by a picket pin, told him the story; and when he had located the sand-covered site of the fire, whose ashes and sticks carefully had been removed, an imprint in the soft clay brought a smile to his face.

"Following us close," he muttered. "Lord help any Mexicans that wander away from the wagons. Nearer twenty than what they said." He slipped along the edge of the pasture and found where the party had left the little ravine. Following the trail he soon came to another matted growth of underbrush, and then he heard the barely audible stamp of a horse. Creeping forward he wormed his way through the greener brush and finally peered through an opening among the stems and branches. A dozen Texans were lolling on the floor of the ravine, and he knew that the others were doing sentry duty.

A shadow passed him and he froze, and then relaxed as Burch came into sight. It was needful that he make no mistake in how he made his presence known, for a careless hail might draw a volley.

Burch passed him treading softly and when the man's back was turned to him Tom called out in a low voice. "Burch! Don't shoot!"

"Boyd!" exclaimed the sentry. "Cussed if ye ain't a good un, gittin' whar ye air an' me not knowin' it. What ye doin' hyar?"

"Scoutin' fer Injuns. Glad ter see ye."

Burch stepped to the edge of the ravine. "Friend o' mine comin' down, name o' Boyd." He turned. "Go down an' meet th' boys; thar honin' fer to shake han's with th' kiyote that hit Armijo. Be with ye soon."

Tom descended and shook hands with the smiling Texans and in a few moments was at home in the camp. He noticed that they all had the Colt revolving rifles which his friend Jarvis, back in St. Louis, had condemned. Each man wore two pistols of the same make, and most of them carried heavy skinning knives inside their boot legs.

"I heard tell them rifles warn't o' much account," he observed.

"Wall, they ain't as good as they might be," confessed a lanky Texan, "if thar used careless an' git too hot. A Hawken will out-shoot 'em; but we mostly fight on hossback, an' like ter git purty clost. Take them greasers we run inter; we didn't pull trigger till we war a hundred paces away, an' by th' time we'd emptied th' rifles an' pulled pistols th' danged fight war over. Th' Injuns don't like 'em worth a cuss. That's a right smart rifle ye got thar, friend."

Tom passed it around and it was duly admired. Then the guard was changed and Burch and Flint appeared.

"You fellers air stickin' purty clost ter us," observed Tom.

"But not as clost as th' greasers air," laughed Flint. "Danged if we kin ketch one o' 'em away from th' waggins."

"That's jest as well," replied Tom. "More'n half of 'em hate Armijo as much as we do. If ye pick 'em off careless yer bound ter make mistakes. Thar's one gang that's fer him strong, an' 'twon't be long before they split from th' others an' stand out so thar won't be no mistakin' 'em. They'll be trailin' me an' Hank in a bunch. We're aimin' ter slip away an' head fer Bent's some place between hyar an' the Upper Spring."

"Thought ye was goin' ter Santa Fe," said Burch in surprise. "If yer goin' ter Bent's ye should 'a' left th' train at th' Crossin'."

"I'm goin' ter Santa Fe," replied Tom, "but thar's some folks that air anxious ter see me. If they larn I'm thar I'll likely be stood ag'in a wall; an' Armijo'll add my ears ter his c'llection. We got ter throw 'em off our trail." He smiled grimly around the circle. "I don't want Salezar ter larn I'm in this part o' the country, fer I want ter git my paws on him."

At the mention of that name the eyes of the leader flamed with flickering fires and he leaned slightly forward, unable to conceal his eagerness. "Whar ye aimin' ter leave th' caravan, friend?" he asked.

"Don't know jest yet," answered Tom, "but I know th' way we'll head. Ye know whar th' waggin road crossed McNees Crick? Wall, plumb north o' that a crick empties inter th' Cimarron. Thar's a dry gully jines th' crick at its mouth, makin' a V. Th' gully war made by th' buffalers wearin' away th' top soil, which let the rains cut inter th' sand beneath an' wash it away. That buffaler trail is th' biggest ye ever saw, an' it's worn down so deep that every rain pours a stream along it. It's cut a gully back fer a hundred paces to whar th' buffaler wallers have turned a little pasture inter a swamp when it rains. Clost to its upper end is a hill, whar my partner built a cache about ten years back. He says th' pit could be easy seen when he war thar last."

"We're aimin' ter head fer Bent's as soon as th' caravan gits too fur along," said the leader, who not long since had returned from the lepers' hospital, used as a prison in his case, in Mexico City. His bitterness had seared him to the soul and Tom thought it strange that he so easily would forego the desire for revenge, the flames of which intermittently flickered in his eyes. "I've been wonderin' about th' best an' straightest way to Bent's, with water on it. Yer pardner says that's th' best trail?"

"Yes," replied Tom. "An' it's th' best fer us in another way. Thar's springs in th' river bed up thar an' fer near a mile th' river's allus wet. Ye see, we got ter throw th' greasers off our trail, which will be too danged plain, with two hosses an' eight mules. I'd swap th' eight mules fer two hosses, seein' as how we're fixed, but I dassn't make th' play, fer everybody in th' caravan would larn of it. Come ter think of it, thar'll be more hosses an' mules; couple o' friends air goin' with us. We change our packs tonight, buildin' 'em up with buffaler rugs we traded th' Comanches fer, in case we part with our goods an' leave th' caravan afterward. Th' two extra hosses would be enough ter carry our grub an' supplies, an' they'd let us make better time than th' mules would."

The Texans nodded and one of them glanced at his leader while he spoke to Tom. "Reckon if ye got them mules ter Bent's ye could sell 'em, or trade 'em fer a couple o' hosses?" He hesitated and then said: "We're runnin' powerful short o' powder an' lead."

"Th' caravan bein' so clost ter Santa Fe, it's got more o' both than it needs," replied Tom. "If we kin git ye some we'll leave it behind th' hill at that old cache o' Hanks. If ye go that way, look fer it." He grinned. "Hank an' me air aimin' ter carry some in one of th' buffaler rug packs. Thar's two fifty-pound pigs o' lead fastened to each o' th' cannon carriages, an' they won't have no use fer more than one ter each gun.

"Wish I war goin' with ye," growled the Texan leader, his eyes flaming again. "I'm hankerin' ter git Salezar's ears, fer I saw th' polecat c'llect Texan ears on th' road from San Miguel ter 'Paso, ter keep th' tally o' his prisoners straight. He strung 'em on a wire, d—n him!" His face became livid with passion, and murder raised its grisly visage in his eyes.

Tom paled. "Yes," he said. "He took th' ears o' a friend o' mine that war sick an' weak with hunger an' cold an' exhaustion, an' couldn't keep up. He had traded most o' his clothes fer short rides on th' mules o' th' guards. They killed him near Valencia, an' his ears war took ter account fer him."

"Valencia!" muttered the leader, pacing back and forth like a panther. "I remember him! Oh, Christ!" he cried, and then got hold of himself. "Boyd, I'd give everythin' I own ter git my han's on that Salezar; an' go ter hell with a smile on my face!" Then he stiffened and reached convulsively toward his holster, for the unmistakable twang of a bowstring sounded from the bushes above his head. The Texans leaped to their arms, but Tom stopped them with a cry.

"Wait, boys! That's Hank—my pardner!" He looked up toward the bushes. "Ye damned fool! Show yerself!"

"Didn't hardly know if 'twar safe," chuckled Hank, his head slowly arising above the tangle of leaves and vines, a dozen paces from the place where the bowstring had twanged.

"Whar's that huntin' party ye war nursin'?" quickly demanded Tom.

"Took 'em 'round on t'other side o' th' camp, ast 'em ter hold my hoss, an' left 'em thar," chuckled the plainsman, making his way down the hillside with caution and silence that had become habitual.

"Boys," said Tom, "hyar's a 'dopted son o' th' Piegan tribe o' th' Blackfeet, name o' Hank Marshall, an' he's more Injun than any brave in th' tribe. Anyhow, I'd ruther have a Injun on my trail than him. He's goin' with me ter Santa Fe; an' Salezar's shore goin' ter need all his friends!"

"Put her thar!" said the Texan leader. "If yer lookin' fer help I'll jine ye, cussed if I won't!"

"Don't want no help that's strange ter Taos an' Santer Fe," laughed Hank. "We got two Green River boys, an' don't need no more; don't hardly need them, but Zeb wants his ha'r, an' I wants his ears, ears bein' his pet joke." He looked at the leader. "You boys run inter some 'Rapahoes? Thar's nigh onter a dozen projectin' 'round these hills. Stumbled acrost thar camp a-ways back. If I'd had one o' them newfangled rifles ye got so many of, danged if I wouldn't 'a' trailed 'em." He grinned expansively. "They cleaned out a cache o' mine, three year back, up on Big Sandy Crick, an' I ain't paid 'em fer it yit."

"We shore do need powder an' lead," said the leader thoughtfully. He turned to one of his men. "Sam, reckon we kin part with pore Williams' rifle?"

"Seein' as we got three more extrys, reckon we kin," answered Sam. "It oughter be worth a keg o' powder an' a couple o' pigs o' lead." He walked over to where their supplies were piled and returned with a heavy Colt repeating rifle. "Hyar, Hank," he said, handing it to the hunter. "Be keerful ter keep th' powder from spillin' down 'round th' cap end; an' don't empty her too fast after th' first few shots. Hyar's th' mold, an' some caps. Git a Injun ter pay fer pore Williams. She's full loaded, so look out."

The rifle was sheathed in a saddle scabbard and Hank took it, looked from it to his own, weighing them both. "Heavy as all git out," he remarked. "Wall, 'twon't weigh nothin' when it's slung ter a saddle. Might be handy purty soon. Much obliged, friends. How we goin' ter git th' powder an' lead ter ye?"

"I've arranged fer that," said Tom, picking up his rifle. "Wall, good luck, boys. Remember us at Bent's if ye git thar."

"Reckon it's you boys that need th' good luck," grimly replied the leader. He watched the two visitors until they were lost to sight in the brush and then turned to his men, his eyes flaming again. "Break camp, boys; we're crossin' th' river close by, ter circle back ag'in farther up."

Tom and Hank, moving silently back toward the encampment, had covered about half of the distance when they heard a sudden burst of shots, yells, and the thunder of hoofs. Running up the side of a little hill they peered over the top and flung themselves down. Less than two hundred paces away a little party of tenderfeet, with Patience Cooper in the center, fought frightened horses as a band of nearly a dozen Indians came charging straight for them across the little clearing. As they looked one of the tenderfeet's horse went down, spilling its rider, and throwing the group into still greater confusion.

"'Rapahoes!" snorted Hank, and his rifle spoke. "One fer my cache!"

The double-barreled rifle of his companion roared twice and another warrior plunged from his horse, while the third fought madly to keep his seat, but his weakening grasp loosened and he rolled over and over across the grass. Tom dropped the empty rifle and started to rise, his hand leaping to the Colt revolver at his belt; but Hank, who had slipped the newly-acquired repeating rifle from its sheath, poked it into his friend's hand and fell to re-loading his Hawken. "She's yore gal. Give 'em hell!" he grunted.

The deadly and unexpected attack from the little hilltop created a diversion which for the moment turned the thoughts of the savages from the tenderfeet in the open, and the charging line split to pass the forlorn group and give its full attention to the real menace; but as it hesitated the heavy, regular crashes of the revolving rifle rolled from the hill, its lead always selecting the warrior nearest to the panic-stricken group. Here an Indian went down, there a horse; and with the cry "Tejanos!" the rest of the savage band wheeled and dashed over the route they had come. The last warrior to reach the edge of the pasture was for one instant silhouetted against the sky on the edge of a ravine, and at that moment Hank's rifle cracked. Throwing both arms up over his head, he turned a backward flip from the horse and sprawled inertly in a currant bush. Re-loading as quickly as they could while on the run the two plainsmen hastened to the group, and Tom, pulling Dr. Whiting from his horse, was within an inch of strangling him when Patience's hands on his wrists checked him.

"Six trusty knights!" sneered the enraged plainsman, hurling the doctor from him. "I said you were six flashes. Ask a woman to go riding with you in a country as broken as this, and as over-run with Indians!" He took a step forward, seething with rage, and ran his eyes over the speechless tenderfeet. "Git back to camp, all of you! Miss Cooper goes with us!" Poised, tense, and enraged he watched them go and did not know that Hank had run to the little hilltop for the double-barreled rifle until the old hunter returned with it, loaded its two barrels, capped them and threw the weapon under his arm. At that moment a burst of firing sounded from the north and Hank cocked his head.

"Sounds like them Colt rifles," he remarked, and then kicked himself figuratively, for at his words, his two companions, almost in each other's arms, started, stiffened, and stepped apart. Seeing that the damage already was done, Hank placidly continued. "Is thar another passel o' Texans loose 'round hyar, or has our friends hit th' trail already?"

"Yes," said Tom, quivering like a leaf.

Patience closed her eyes. "Yes," she sighed.

Hank scratched his head and frowned, very much puzzled. "Shucks! thar ain't no doubt 'bout it, a-tall. Course it is—an' I'm a danged old fool!"

"You're one of the four best men I ever knew," said Patience, resting her hand on his arm.

Hank felt of the disgraceful, stubby beard on his face, scowled at his blackened hands, and furtively brushed at a bloodstain on his shirt. Then he wheeled abruptly and strode off to look over the victims of the little affray. When he turned again he saw Patience and Tom going toward camp, Patience on her horse and Tom striding at her side. Fixing the strap to his own rifle he slung the weapon over his shoulder and, with the double-barreled weapon balanced expertly in his hands, slowly followed after to act as a badly needed protector to them both.

Back in camp Tom handed Patience into her uncle's care, looked at her in a way she would remember to the end of her days, and hastened on to report to the captain of the caravan. When he reached Woodson he found Hank there before him, laughingly recounting the fight. As Tom came up Hank stepped back and slipped away, heading straight for the excited group of tenderfeet at the other end of the encampment, and roughly pushed in among them.

"Look hyar, ye sick pups," he blurted. "My pardner dassn't thrash any o' ye, or he'll mebby lose his gal. Anybody hyar wantin' ter take advantage o' an old man? Huh! Then open yer dumb ears ter this: If I ketch airy one o' ye hangin' 'round Cooper's waggins, or even sayin' 'how-de-do' to that gal, I'll git ye if I has ter chase ye all the way back ter Missoury!" He spat at the doctor's feet, turned his back and rambled over to where his trade goods were piled. On the way he met Zeb, who scowled at him.

Hank pulled some black mops out of his pocket, showed them, and shoved them back again.

"Hell!" said Zeb, enviously. "Whar ye git 'em?"

"Found one on a currant bush," chuckled Hank, and went on again.

Zeb placed his fists on his hips and scowled in earnest. "I didn't know what that shootin' war, with all th' hunters runnin' 'round. Dang him! He allus did have more luck ner brains!"

Up at the captain's wagon Woodson nodded as his companion finished speaking. "I reckon ye kin have 'most anythin' in this hyar camp, Boyd. Two bars o' lead off'n th' cannon carriages, an' a keg o' powder? Shore, I'll put th' powder in Cooper's little waggin, an' ye kin help yerself ter th' lead when ye git th' time."