"The plains are vast," said Middleton mildly. "Onecan ride hundreds of miles, and yet not come to the end.Many parts of them have never felt the hoof of a Comanchepony. The plains do not belong to the Comanches or toanybody else."
"They are ours," repeated the chief. "We tell youto go back. The third warning is the last."
"If we still come on, what would you do?" said Middleton.
"It is war," replied Black Panther. "You will notreach Santa Fé, and you will not go back to New Orleans.The Comanches will welcome you to their plains with thearrows from their bows and the bullets from their rifles."
"Be it so," said Middleton, continuing his calm, eventone. "We have not come so far merely to turn back.The Comanche welcome of bullets and arrows may greetus, but we are strong men, and for any welcome that maybe given to us we shall always repay. Is it not so,Mr. Woodfall?"
Woodfall nodded.
"Give that answer to your tribe," said Middleton, speaking in firm tones, and looking the chief squarely inthe eyes. "We have started to Santa Fé, and there we go.The Comanche nation has not enough warriors to turn usback."
A spark of fire seemed to leap from the chief's eye, but he made no other demonstration.
"I have given you the third and last warning," hesaid. "Now I go."
He raised the shield in a sort of salute, and, withouta word, turned and rode away. The three sat on theirhorses, looking at him. When he had gone about twohundred yards he paused a moment, fitted an arrow tohis bow, shot it almost straight up into the air, and then, uttering a long fierce whoop, galloped away over theplain.
The Indian's cry was sinister, ominous of great dangers, and its meaning sank deeply on Phil's heart. Apeculiar shiver ran down his backbone, and the littlepulses in his temples began to beat. He did not doubtfor a moment that the warning of the Comanche was blackwith storm. He watched the sinister figure becomingsmaller and smaller, until it turned into a dark blur, thena dot, and then was seen no more in the vast, gray-greenexpanse.
The incident seemed to have sunk deep into the mindsof the other two, also, and they rode gravely and insilence back to the train, which was now drawn up in onegreat group on the crest of the swell. The men, keenborderers most of them, had divined the significance ofwhat they saw, but they crowded around the three formore definite information. Woodfall told them briefly.He knew their temper, but he thought it best to put thequestion and to put it fairly.
"Men," he said, "we are undoubtedly threatenedwith an attack. The Comanches are numerous, brave, and cunning. I will not conceal from you those facts.A fight with them will mean loss to us, and, even if wewin that fight, as I am sure we will, they will attackagain. Now, if any want to turn back, let them do so.All who wish to go back, say 'I'."
He paused. There was a dead silence throughout thetrain. The corners of Woodfall's lips curved a little intoa slow smile.
"Those who wish to go on, Comanche or no Comanche, say 'Yes,'" he cried.
A single "Yes" was thundered out from scores ofthroats, and many of the more enthusiastic raised theirrifles and shook them.
"I thought so," said Woodfall quietly, and then headded in a louder voice: "Forward!"
Fifty whips cracked like so many rifle shots. Thewagons creaked and moved forward again, and by theirside rode the armed horsemen. They descended the slope, rose to the crest of the next swell, where the Comanchehorseman had stood, and then passed on, over wave afterwave into the unbroken gray-green expanse of the West.There was nothing before them but the plains, with abunch of buffalo grazing far off to the right, and a herdof antelope grazing far off to the left. The ominous spellthat the Indian had cast seemed to have vanished withhim so far as the great majority of the men wereconcerned. But Phil and his immediate comrades did notforget.
"The words of that Indian, as you have deliveredthem to me, linger in my mind, young Sir Philip of thePlains," said Bill Breakstone, "but I am glad he tookthe trouble to give us a warning. A stitch in time maysave the lives of nine good men.
"Give me the word
That harm you mean,
Then my good sword
I take, I ween.
"At least that poem is short and to the point, SirPhilip. And now I think me that to-morrow about thenoon hour, if we should maintain our present pace, wecross a river known variously to the different Indiantribes, but muddy, deep, and flowing between highbanks. The crossing will be difficult, and I ought to tellWoodfall about it."
"By all means," said Middleton, "and I can tellyou, Breakstone, that I already wish we were safely onthe other side of that river."
They camped that night in the open plain. Therewas a good moonlight, but the watch was doubled, themost experienced frontiersmen being posted as sentinels.Yet the watchers saw nothing. They continuously madewide circles about the camp, but the footprint of neitherman nor horse was to be seen. The day dawned, coldand gray with lowering skies, and, before the obscure sunwas an hour above the plain, the train resumed itsmarch, Woodfall, Middleton, Breakstone, Phil, andArenberg riding in a little group at the head.
"How far on do you say is this river?" asked Woodfall.
"We should strike it about noon," replied Breakstone, repeating his statement of the day before. "It is narrowand deep, and everywhere that I have seen it the banksare high, but we ought to find somewhere a slope for acrossing."
"Is it wooded?" asked Middleton.
"Yes, there are cottonwoods, scrub oaks, bushes, andtall grass along either bank."
"I'm sorry for that," said Woodfall.
Phil knew perfectly well what they meant, but he kept, silent, although his heart began to throb. The otherthree also fell silent, and under the gray, lowering skythe spirits of the train seemed to sink. The men ceasedto joke with one another, and no songs were sung. Philheard only the tread of the horses and the creak of thewagons.
An hour or two later they saw a dim black linecutting across the plain.
"The trees along the banks of the river," said BillBreakstone.
"And they are still two or three miles away," saidWoodfall.
The leader rode among his men and spoke with them.The train moved forward at the same speed, drawingitself like a great serpent over the plain, but there was aclosing up of the ranks. The wagons moved more closelytogether, and every driver had a rifle under his feet.The horsemen rode toward the head of the train, heldtheir rifles across the pommels of their saddles, andloosened the pistols in their holsters. Phil was conscious ofa deep, suppressed excitement, an intensity of expectation, attached to the dark line of trees that now rosesteadily higher and higher out of the plain.
An old buffalo hunter in the train now recalled theriver, also, and, after studying the lay of the landcarefully, said that they would find a ford about two milesnorth of the point toward which the head of the trainwas directed. The course was changed at once, and theyadvanced toward the northwest.
"Do you think anything is going to happen, Bill?"asked Phil, speaking for the first time.
"Do you feel kind of tingly in your blood?" askedBreakstone, not replying directly.
"I tingle all over," said Phil frankly.
"I'm tingling a bit myself," said Breakstone, "andI've spent a good many years in the wilderness. Yes,Phil, I think something is going to happen, and I thinkyou and me and the Cap and Arenberg ought to sticktogether."
"That is well spoken," said Middleton. "We arechosen comrades, and we must stand by one another.See how the trees are drawing nearer."
The black line now stood up level with the earth, andthe trees became detached from one another. They couldalso see the thick undergrowth hiding the river, whichseemed to flow in a deep gash across the plain. Middletontook from his saddlebags a pair of strong glasses, and, as they rode on, examined the double line