At the end of the journey I found myself in clear memory of but three incidents—a tavern brawl with a dozen or more carousing young farmers, who chose to consider themselves insulted by my refusal to take more than one glass of their raw whiskey; the swimming of the Susquehanna River, because of a disablement of the ferry; and a brush with a trio of highwaymen at nightfall in the thick of a dense wood. The rascals did not catch me with damp priming. When they sprang out at me, I knocked over the foremost, as he reached for the bridle, with a thrust of my rifle muzzle, and swung the barrel around in time to shatter the shoulder of the second fellow with a shot fired from the hip. The third would have done for me had not his priming flashed in the pan. He turned and leaped back into the thicket, while I was quite content to clap spurs to my horse and gallop on up the road.
But even this last adventure failed to hold a place in my thoughts when at last, near mid-afternoon of the fifteenth day, I came in view of Elizabethtown on the Monongahela. Here it was I had reason to hope that I might overtake Señor Vallois and his party. With roads so difficult, it was more to be expected that he would take boat from this lively little shipping point than rag on through the mire to Pittsburg.
Cheered by the thought, I urged my horse into a jog trot, which, however, soon fell back into a walk as the weary beast floundered through the deeper mire of the town's main street. I rode as directly as possible toward the leading tavern. Señor Vallois was not the man to lie at any other than the best of inns when choice offered.
With quick-beating heart I made out the sign of the tavern I sought, and again attempted to urge my horse into a jog. He was slow to respond either to word or spur, and I suddenly gave over the effort at sight of a tall and dignified figure which stepped from the inn door and swung easily upon the horse which a half-grown lad had been holding in wait.
The first glance had told me what I most wished to know. My chase had not been fruitless. The Spanish cloak and hat and high riding boots of the don were unmistakable, even had I not recognized the Spanish dignity of his bearing. Certain of his identity, I would have preferred to postpone a meeting until I had found opportunity to bathe and to change to the one shift of linen and clothes which I carried behind the cantle of my saddle. Yet I made no attempt to avoid him when he wheeled his horse about and rode directly toward me.
Had it not been for our first meeting in the yellow clay of Washington's famous avenue, I doubt if the don were unmistakable, even had I not recognized buckskins. With that memory in mind, it is not unlikely that my mud-smirched condition only served to add to the quickness of his perception. We were almost passing, when he raised his eyes, which had been staring down into the miry road in frowning abstraction. His glance swept over me and rested on my face. A moment later he had drawn rein and was bowing to me.
"Por Dios! It is our gallant caballero of the mire!—Buenos dias, Dr. Robinson!"
"To you the same, Señor Vallois!" I returned.
"It is a strange chance which brings us to a meeting in this wilderness bog," he remarked, with what I thought was a shade of suspicion in his proud black eyes.
There was every reason for me to seek at once to place myself on the footing with him that I desired. Meeting his glance with a careless nod, I answered readily: "It is a pleasant chance which brings us together here, but not a strange one. Little travel comes from Philadelphia to the Ohio other than on the road we both have such cause to remember."
"From Philadelphia?" he questioned.
"I carry despatches from Colonel Burr."
"You!" he cried, thrown out of his aristocratic reserve. But in the same breath he was bowing his apologies. "Your pardon, señor! I was not aware that you and Colonel Burr—"
"Nor he, señor, until a few days ago," I hastened to explain. "Senator Adair of Kentucky was formerly my father's friend and camp-mate. He advised me to see Colonel Burr. When I started upon my return West, I came by way of Philadelphia. It did not take me long to come to an agreement with—" I lowered my voice and leaned nearer the don—"the man who professes an intention to strike off the fetters of a land dear to Señor Vallois."
"Poder de Dios!" cried the don, reaching his hand to me with a fiery impetuosity of which I had believed him incapable—"Santisima Virgen! You are one of us! You have cast in your lot with the new league of freedom!"
It angered me that I must qualify. "Hold, señor! I did not say that. I have not gone so far—as yet."
"As yet?" he demanded.
"Your pardon, señor, but many such projects are schemed, and in the end prove to be—'castles in Spain.'"
He smiled gravely and without offence. "Señor, I give you my word that I and my friends are prepared to build the Western wall of the castle."
"Your word, señor, is sufficient. But there remains the Eastern wall, and I am doubtful of the builders. I did not ask for Colonel Burr's word. I preferred something more substantial. He has promised that I shall receive such proof upon my arrival at St. Louis."
"Then you, too, go to the—to St. Louis?"
"To the General," I responded, surmising that it was General Wilkinson whom he had hesitated to name.
"You spoke of despatches."
"Letters from the Colonel to parties we both seek, in St. Louis and New Orleans."
"Colonel Burr entrusted me with numerous despatches."
"He mentioned the day of my visit with him in Philadelphia as the eighth after your departure. That week may have seen developments or changes which required fresh despatches."
"Poder de Dios!" he exclaimed. "You left Philadelphia eight days later—and are here!"
"At your service, señor."
"Santisima Virgen! And I had four horses to my carriage!"
"I had nine horses beneath my saddle, in succession."
"Virgen! What a caballero!"
"When a man is in haste to see his journey's end, señor, he does not loll about taverns on the way. You came in yesterday?" He bowed. "Then you may be able to tell me what are the chances of obtaining quick passage down the river."
He looked across toward the shipyards with a frown.
"I am now on my way to inquire, señor," he answered. "Against the better counsel of Colonel Burr, I was so ill advised as to bring a seaman from the seaboard to have charge of the water journey."
"A salt-water sailor on an Ohio flat!" I exclaimed.
"The señor forgets that I am a stranger to his forest wilderness."
"Your pardon, Señor Vallois!—Permit me to ride with you. It may be I can assist you."
"Na-da-a!" he protested. "I cannot permit it. You have ridden for fifteen days at more than post speed. You must first refresh yourself."
"The señor forgets that I am no less eager than himself to arrange for the river passage. Rest assured I am good for another day in the saddle, if need be, at your service, señor."
As I wheeled around, and we started for the riverside, he looked me up and down with a wondering glance.
"Por Dios!" he muttered. "I had thought none could ride as ride our vaqueros. You are a man of iron."
"I am the son of my father," I replied. "How other than hard could be the sons of the men who wrested this Western land from the savages—who have driven the Cherokees, Creeks, and Choctaws south of Tennessee,