5 The Timely Stable

Ned stopped on a swell of the prairie, and waved farewell to the distant group of men who stood on the edge of a grove and watched him. They were too far away for him to make out faces, but he saw a half dozen take off their sombreros and wave back to him. His heart filled with emotion. They were brave and trusty comrades, and he was leaving them behind. The thought that he might never see them again occurred to him suddenly. These were terrible times, and, at best, the Texans had but a forlorn hope.

Ned, at that moment, had less confidence in himself than the leaders of the others were having in him. When the men put on their sombreros, after waving them to the messenger, Deaf Smith said in a tone of confidence to the Panther, Karnes and the rest:

“If anybody can carry through such a message it’s Ned. He’s chose, I tell you, he’s chose. We’ve talked that over before, an’ we’re agreed on it.”

“Besides,” said Obed White, “he’s become one of the best plainsmen there is, which is another way of saying that Heaven helps those who have the strong artillery; but I’m sure with you that he will get through to Houston with the news that the Texans are gathering in the south. They say that Sam Houston, big leader that he is, doesn’t value us high enough.”

Ned, meanwhile, was riding steadily on toward the Brazos. He had made up his mind not to look back again for fear that his resolution would be weakened. He did not know just where Houston was, and no one had been able to tell him, but he felt sure that he would find him somewhere along the Brazos. It was a big river, swollen by rains, and it would be natural for the Texans to rally there against Santa Anna.

As Ned rode on all his courage returned. In truth, he felt a high elation. He had received a great trust, and he would carry it out in the face of innumerable dangers. He would bring news to Houston that the Texans were coming, that the fighting spirit was abroad everywhere, and then they would gather in the face of Santa Anna.

But Ned’s elation came wholly from within. There was nothing around him to encourage cheerfulness. Nature was sullen and gloomy during that famous spring in Texas. He should have been riding at this moment over a carpet of green sprinkled with flowers, varied in color and innumerable in quantity. Instead there was little sunshine. Heavy, dark clouds hung continually. The rain came down almost every day and night, and sometimes with great violence. The prairie, usually solid, was a morass, in which the feet of Ned’s horse sank sometimes over the hoof. There was mud, mud everywhere. The vegetation was scanty and dwarfed by cold winds.

Ned had not been riding more than an hour before the entire sky turned to the color of lead, and a cold drizzle set in. He had not neglected to provide himself well at the start, and there were two blankets tied to his saddle, a light one of wool, and another heavier, somewhat like a South American poncho. He wrapped the poncho about himself from the neck to the knees, while below the knees thick deerskin leggings and moccasins kept off the water. He also carried his rifle beneath the poncho, and, thus fended from the rain, he urged his horse on over the reeking prairie.

Ned was hopeful that the clouds would break away, but the dismal nature of the day increased. Puffs of cold wind dashed the rain like hail in his face, and, even beneath the folds of the poncho, he shivered. He could also feel the horse shivering under him. Now and then, between the swells of the prairie, he rode through water six inches deep.

He plodded on toward the north for a full six hours, and he did not believe that he had covered more than fifteen miles. Although yet dry, he was worn to the bone by the driving wind and rain, and his horse began to stagger from weakness. He felt that he must seek shelter somewhere, no matter how important his errand.

The prospect of refuge was not good. Before him the prairie extended, a vast and desolate morass, without a single tree in sight. He had been hopeful that he would find a cabin abandoned by some fleeing Texan family, but there was none, nor was it likely that he could find any until he reached timber. The pioneers seldom built on the open prairie.

He could only plod on, and Ned’s spirits grew very heavy. In reality, danger was less wearing than this eternal mud, rain and cold wind. About the middle of the afternoon he decided to turn toward the east. He knew that numbers of large creeks ran northward into the Brazos. He might find shelter in the timber that always grew along their banks, and shelter and rest he must have if he remained fit to achieve the great task that he had undertaken.

Ned’s belief that he might find a deserted cabin in the timber was altogether probable. The Texans had settled rather numerously in this section, in the timber along the creeks, but he knew that after the Alamo and Goliad the flight northward had been universal. Nearly all these settlers were now beyond the Brazos, leaving their empty homes behind them.

Ned urged his weary horse to greater speed, knowing that if he traveled long enough he must come to a creek and timber. But it was a painful task for the worn animal. The morass grew deeper and the rain and cold increased in volume. Finally he got down and walked, pulling himself through the mud beside his horse. An hour of this and he saw a dark line ahead. He could have shouted with joy, because his unfailing vision told him that this was timber.

He remounted, and, as the soil was now somewhat firmer, he advanced much more rapidly. Before him stretched the timber in a long dark line from north to south, and it seemed thick and heavy. Ned was sure that he would find shelter there. The horse’s instinct seemed to be similar, as he raised his head, uttered a neigh of satisfaction, and broke of his own accord into a trot.

The trees were merely a darker blur on a dark and desolate day. To the ordinary observer they would have brought no cheer. Nothing could have tempered this savage wilderness to the eye of one who knew civilization alone, but Ned, who had been so long on the frontier, read comfort in that somber wall against the eastern sky.

He rode into the timber, and, as he expected, he came to a creek, running a deep and yellow flood between low banks. It flowed northward to the Brazos, and the stretch of timber on either side was wide and comparatively free from undergrowth. The trees were fine and tall. They were thick with leaves, which partly protected Ned from the rain, and he rode slowly northward, always watching for a cabin. Some of these buildings were so small and so much hidden that one could pass without ever seeing them.

He came twice to heaps of ashes and fragments of burned wood. He did not believe that their former occupants had set the torch to them when they left, and this destruction must prove that Mexican raiders had crossed the Colorado. Yet they could be only in small parties that traveled fast.

As he left the second heap of ashes and charred timbers he noticed a clump of trees between it and the river, and beyond it a glimpse of rough boards. He rode around the clump and saw a small and rude stable. Evidently those who had destroyed the cabin had not noticed it, but, petty and mean as it was, it was as welcome to Ned as any splendid hotel that ever cheered the sight of a traveler.

The stable, in a way, was more useful to him than the cabin would have been. There was a place for his horse also. It was a good animal that he rode, and he had come long and far through mud and storm. He was not the equal of the great horse, Old Jack, who was wandering somewhere over the Texas prairie, but he had done his duty, and he deserved his reward.

The stable had a rude door made of heavy boards fastened together with cross pieces at the top and bottom. Ned opened it, and gazed into the dusky interior a moment or two, before his eyes could dispel the darkness. The floor was of the native earth, but it was packed hard, and it was dry. Under the sloping roof some planks had been placed across from wall to wall, and upon these was piled considerable hay. Evidently this Texas farmer had been a forethoughtful man, one who, contrary to custom, made a refuge for his stock in winter.

He led the horse inside and closed the door. The horse uttered a gentle neigh of satisfaction. Ned rubbed his nose and stroked his mane.

“We’re lucky, you and I,” he said, “to stumble upon such a place as this. Our good star, if we have one, is certainly watching over us. We find shelter for both of us and food also for you.”

He slipped off the saddle and bridle, and climbed with them up to the planks, on which the hay rested. It was good hay, and he threw an abundance of it down for the horse.

Ned heard the sound of big teeth munching the hay, and he knew that the horse was now in an animal heaven of his own. He realized with acute force that he, too, was very tired and hungry. He carried a pair of stout saddlebags filled with food, and he took out as much as he wished. He disposed his arms and entire equipment about him, and, making a particularly good place for himself in the hay, he lay there and ate until he was satisfied.

He could not recall a time when he had felt more comfortable. Shelter and warmth appeal most to those who have lacked them, and it still seemed wonderful that he should have come upon such a place at such a time. He recalled his singularly good fortune in escaping so often from such great dangers. He did not know that the Panther, Smith and Karnes looked upon him as “one chose,” But he did appear even to himself to have a lucky star.

The night was turning colder and the rain grew harder. It beat with a steady musical rhythm on the board roof which was not three feet above him. Often when a little boy he had gone to sleep to that same beating of rain or hail upon the roof, and it was not less soothing now.

The horse, having eaten his fill, half lay on the dry earth, and it seemed to Ned that he was asleep. Then he himself felt sleepier than ever. It was so warm and cozy up there with that cold rain beating on the roof, but unable to get at him. He pulled the hay a little closer about his body and closed his eyes. He had intended to open them again, but when he started to do so the lids felt so heavy that he gave up the attempt. The deep lulling sound of wind and rain quieted every nerve, and soon he was asleep.

Ned did not know how near to collapse he had been. The beating that he had received for a whole day by wind and rain had tried his body sorely, and now he slept the deep sleep of utter exhaustion. But it is an easy task for nature to take care of the young and healthy, and all the hours that he slept it was building him anew. The blood flowed once more in a steady stream through his veins, and his pulse became strong and regular. While he slept, his full strength came back, and his lucky star was watching over him better than he knew.

Ned had gone to sleep shortly after dark, and about two hours later a numerous body of horsemen came riding in the timber up the creek, but on the other side of the stream. They were mostly short and dark, but thick of chest. The man who led them was young and commanding in manner. He wore the uniform of a Mexican officer, and he was none other than Francisco Urrea, who, after his unfortunate encounter at the ford with the Panther, Smith and the others, had daringly crossed the river at another point, and was now seeking to cut off any Texan force that he might find.

Urrea knew well enough that the Texans were in confusion after the Alamo and Goliad, and that the settlers everywhere were abandoning their homes. Now was the time to strike a blow for Santa Anna, Mexico and, above all, for himself. He was young, ambitious, able and energetic, and he had a powerful ally in his uncle, General Urrea. If he could strike some great blow now, there might be two generals named Urrea instead of one. He could destroy villages, he might even seize the fugitive Texan government and have every member of it shot or hanged.

But just at present Urrea and his men were depressed. The rain and wind had taken its toll of them also, and they wished shelter and food. One of Urrea’s scouts had seen the burned cabin on the other side of the creek, but he had failed to notice the little stable in the clump of trees. Surely when the Panther, Smith and Karnes heard of this they would repeat anew that Ned was “chose,” that he was a magic leader.

The timber was much thicker on Urrea’s side of the creek, and he pitched a camp there about five hundred yards from Ned’s stable. He had a number of pack mules in his train, and several tents were set up. Patience also produced a fire, which, fed bountifully, burned well in spite of the rain. Then Urrea and his chief assistant, Lieutenant Pedro Tajon, sat in one of the tents and conferred.

“We may yet get the Texans who drove us back at the ford,” said Urrea, “and there are some dangerous men among them, whom I should like to slay or take. But it’s better, perhaps, to keep on to the north. A quick dash and we may even seize Houston himself.”

Tajon’s eyes blazed. He was a man of Urrea’s own kind.

“Perhaps we can do it,” he said. “Houston must be somewhere near the Brazos.”

“Beyond a doubt,” said Urrea. “If this cursed rain will only cease, and, if the prairie will only dry out instead of remaining a morass, we may get him. In any event, we will continue northward. Except those with Houston himself, I do not believe there is any body of Texans half as numerous as our own.”

Then each retired to his own tent and went to sleep. The Mexican common soldiers sheltered themselves as best they could, but they had the advantage of the warming fire, and, with their big serapes, they kept fairly comfortable. By midnight they, too, were all asleep save the guards.

Ned, not a quarter of a mile away from his worst enemy, was still slumbering as if he would never wake, and all the while sleep was bringing him new strength and courage for the great dangers that he must face, The rain and wind did not cease until late. Then the clouds walked away like the battalions of an army, leaving behind a clear silver sky, in which myriads of stars sparkled and danced.

A little later Ned awoke. It might have been some movement of his horse that broke his sleep, but he never knew. The Panther or Deaf Smith would have said that it was his guardian angel. He sat up, brushed the hay from his neck and face and remembered where he was and how he had come there. He could no longer hear that lullaby of the rain and wind on the boards. The horse was standing up, and had begun to nibble again at some fragments of hay that he had left on the floor.

Ned let himself down and patted his horse’s head.

“Good old fellow,” he said. “It’s been a better night here than you or I expected.”

The horse rubbed his nose against Ned’s sleeve and whinnied softly as if he understood and agreed with him. Ned opened the door and looked all about the circle of his limited horizon. The night was not very dark now. He saw the trunks of many trees, the yellow surface of the swollen creek and then beyond it a beam of fiery light. He thought at first that it must be some delusion but it was too clear and intense. He knew that it came from a fire, a large fire, and he concluded immediately that it must be made by a raiding party of Mexicans. He was quite sure there were no Texans in that immediate region, and, whatever he did now, it behooved him to do it with great caution.

Ned watched the red beam for some time and saw it grow. He judged that it was not more than five hundred yards away, and he inferred from the amount of light it shed at such a distance that it must be a large campfire. There was a bare possibility that Texans were gathered around it, but a great probability that Mexicans instead were sitting around the coals.

He fastened the door so the horse could not wander out, looked well to his arms, and slipped away among the trees. The timber grew to the water’s edge, but the creek, flooded by the rains, was a swollen yellow torrent, and he could not ford it. Instead, he stopped at a point opposite the fire, and kneeling among the bushes watched long and intently. He was so much absorbed that he did not notice the coming of the day. All the stars went out before the rising sun, and the splendor of the east was appearing. Then Ned saw men going back and forth, their black forms outlined against the ruddy fire. He saw the short, thick figures, the great sombreros and he knew that they were Mexicans. It was time for him to leave.

He slipped back to the stable, saddled and bridled his horse, fastened his blankets, ammunition and supplies to the saddle, and made ready to go forth. But in accordance with frontier prudence he first took another look, slipping as before through the dense foliage to the edge of the creek.

It was full day now. The splendor of the east had also become the splendor of the west. Ned, from his point of vantage, heard the sound of many voices, and saw Mexicans coming toward the creek, bringing their horses down to drink. They were in a cheerful mood, these invaders of his beloved Texas, laughing and talking with one another, as their horses lapped up the yellow water. Evidently they had slept well, and Ned’s heart was filled half with rage and half with envy. They represented Mexico, immense, powerful and overwhelming, and he a solitary fugitive, hiding for his life, represented the cause of the few and scattered Texans, a cause that seemed to the world lost beyond redemption.

Some of the Mexicans, superb horsemen, rode their horses bare-backed into the deep water, and, in a spirit of bravado, swam them across the creek. It was good sport for the Mexicans, but it might be death for the young Texan who lay among the bushes. Ned felt a mighty warning that it was time for him to get away and to get away fast.

He slipped back to the stable and led his horse forth. He was about to mount and ride away when he heard the voices of Mexicans on his side of the creek. His heart leaped into his throat and the great pulse there began to beat. The Mexicans were around him, and there was not once chance in a hundred that he could ride away unseen. It was his first thought to lead the horse back in the stable and make a last stand, but then came another idea. It was a desperate chance, but he would take it. He dismounted from the horse, took off his saddle and bridle and turned him loose, striking him smartly upon the flank. The horse looked back with great eyes of reproach, but, feeling his freedom, he wandered off among the bushes.

Ned reckoned that the Mexicans would see the horse, but would take him for a waif and stray from some ruined farm about there. It was wholly in accord with probability.

Then with the saddle and bridle on his arm he returned to the stable, left the door wide open, and, climbing in the little loft with the saddle and bridle and his weapons, buried himself and them in the hay. He had left the door open purposely to divert suspicion. There were hoof marks on the earthen floor, but they, too, were wholly probable. A horse, used to the stable and finding the door open, would naturally wander in to seek shelter from a storm.

He drew a light covering of the hay completely over himself and his equipment. But he kept his rifle by his side with his finger on the trigger. He could throw aside the hay at a moment’s notice and take aim. He also lay against the wall and there was a little crack between the boards on the side next to the creek, through which he could see anyone who approached from that direction.

He lay there a full quarter of an hour and all that time the distant sound of voices came from several points. Now they approached and then they shifted away. He wondered if they had found the horse, and if so what they would make of his presence there. It seemed possible at last they they might go away without seeing the stable. His pulse beat heavily, and it was hard to lie perfectly still. His vivid imagination presented to him the full danger of the ordeal.

The prowling Mexicans did not leave. Ned, through the crack, saw four, muskets on shoulder, come between him and the creek, and then turn toward him. A few moments later, he heard one of them utter a cry of surprise, and he knew the cause. They had penetrated the foliage and they had seen the stable. Presently they came around to the front of the building, and entered the open door.

Ned was forced now to depend upon hearing alone. He did not dare to move or even to breathe heavily, for fear that they would see the slight rising and falling of the hay. But he could hear well through the thin covering, and his knowledge of Spanish stood him in good stead.

The four Mexicans were evidently looking at the hoof prints as Ned heard their comments upon them.

“A horse has been here and but a little while ago, my Miguel,” said one.

“Aye, you speak truly, Antonio,” said another. “The hoofprints are not twelve hours old.”

“Can it be possible that some Texan has been stabling his horse here, my Antonio?”

“I think not. None would dare delay at such a place, where the Mexican sword and the Mexican firebrand have passed. This stable was overlooked because the trees stood so thickly about it, and likely the horse wandered into it last night, when the storm was at its height. Did you not notice that the door was open when we came?”

“It is so. Then we will get the horse. He must be somewhere near grazing among the trees.”

“A fine idea. A good horse would be well worth taking. Thou hast brains, amigo, despite thy looks.”

The four went out of the stable and Ned rose up a little in the hay. He caught a glimpse of the bright sunshine through the open door. He was tempted to leave his covert and try to steal away, but second thought brought prudence and he sank back into his old lair. There he lay for a quarter of an hour, and he was deeply thankful that he had crushed his first impulse.

The Mexicans were returning. He heard them talking. But he did not hear any hoofbeats and he knew that they had failed to find the horse. They came back into the stable and stood there talking. Their words expressed disappointment.

“It would have been a good horse, I know, my Antonio,” said one. “These Texans have better animals than we and he would have been a fine prize.”

“Doubtless he has wandered far down the creek, too far for us to follow, but since we cannot get him we can destroy his shelter. We can complete the work that comrades of ours began.”

Ned shivered in the hay. A terrible chill ran down his backbone.

“You speak truly,” said another. “It is but a light structure built of boards. A touch of the torch, a rush of flame and it is gone.”

Ned shivered again. He knew too well the truth of their words. If fire were set to the stable it would go with a sweep and he would go with it. His brow became wet and cold with sweat. Another of the Mexicans spoke up in approval of the suggestion, and then another, and he knew that the plan would be carried out. What could he do but spring from the loft, and endeavor to dash through them?

It was a terrible problem. The stable made of light boards and with the inflammable hay in the loft would burn up in ten minutes, and he would perish of the fire and suffocation in less than half that time. Even if he sprang down among the Mexicans and succeeded in breaking his way through, the others, drawn by the sounds of the combat, could overtake him easily on horseback.

He could not see any way out, and, while he was hesitating the Mexicans were acting. He heard the rasp of flint on steel, and their talk to one another.

“Strike harder, my Antonio, and strike faster, too.”

“Cut more of the thin splinters, Diego. Heap them here, and they will surely catch in a few minutes.”

“Then we shall leave nothing of what the Texan built, nothing but ashes.”

Ned heard them laugh in unholy glee among themselves, and he also heard, with painful distinctness, the rasping together of flint and steel. Antonio had obeyed the command and was striking harder and faster. Ned knew that the sparks would presently leap forth in a stream, and he raised himself a little in the hay. The dry straws rustled, but the Mexicans, absorbed in their task, did not hear it.

Ned rose a little higher and was nerving himself for the leap, when he heard the mellow and swelling notes of a bugle coming from the Mexican camp beyond the creek. It sounded wonderfully clear in the crisp morning air, and it was an insistent note, too. It said: “Come! Come, on the instant!” It was the summons of Urrea about to take up the march again. One of the Mexicans uttered an impatient little cry, but the others upbraided him.

“Delay not, my Antonio,” said another. “When the Captain calls it is well to go. Listen, the trumpet still tells us to come, and even if we hasten we shall yet be late. Not another moment. Hurry!”

The rasping of flint and steel together ceased and Ned heard their retreating footsteps. He sank back upon the hay and lay in a cold sweat, so great and terrible had been the tension. Then, calling back his courage and strength, he peered through the crack in the wall, and saw the four Mexicans swimming their horses across the creek. He could hear, too, even at the distance, the jingling of bridle bits, and the loud commands of officers. Urrea was marching and he was saved.

He lay on the hay, and listened until the last of the sounds had passed. Then, after another wait of fifteen or twenty minutes, he lowered himself with his arms and ammunition to the floor. He left the saddle, bridle and blankets where they were for the present at least. It was possible, even probable, that he might find his horse again. But he devoted his first few moments of release from the hay to stretching himself and tensing his muscles. The blood flowed back in a steady tide through his veins, and all his pulses settled down again to a regular beat.

Then he went outside and took long breaths of the fresh air. He felt an immense relief, and he knew also that he had great cause to be grateful. It seemed that Providence had taken him in its special keeping.

He ate food from his saddle bags and waited at the stable a full hour, in order to give the last Mexican straggler plenty of time to get away. Then he began a search through the woods for his horse. He walked down the stream about a half mile. As the timber was dense, giving little room for grass, he returned to his starting point and went another half mile in the opposite direction. There in a little open space near the bank he saw his horse grazing in great content.

Ned anticipated trouble in catching him again, but he found none. It may be that an animal so much used to the presence of man had grown lonely. Ned had brought the bridle only with him and he slipped it over his head. He too was lonely, and it was like seeing a good comrade to find his horse again.

“I’ve been through more danger than you, old boy,” he said, as he stroked his muzzle, “but I’ve come out of it, and here we are together again. I hope you’ve fed well, and rested well, and that you are ready now to bear me northward to Houston.”

The horse rubbed his nose against the boy’s arm in assent. Ned leaped upon his bare back, and rode slowly back to the stable. It was the work of only a few moments to saddle him and put all his equipment in place.

Then Ned remounted and rode forward a short distance. When he looked back he could see only a little of the stable, and he might not have noticed that, had he not known of its presence. Whether placed in such concealment by accident or intent, it had served him well. It was to him at least the finest stable in all the world.

Then he rode slowly up the stream until he could find a good point of approach, where he swam his horse across the deep waters. Curiosity took him back down the shore toward the Mexican camp. He saw that it had been a good one, well sheltered by the timber and the nature of the earth, and he also saw about many fragments of food, indicating that Urrea’s men fared well. Ned’s face grew dark with wrath. He knew that most of their supplies were plunder taken from the Texan settlers, and he feared that Urrea would do much greater harm before some stronger force drove him back across the Colorado.

He followed a little while on the Mexican trail. About a mile lower down it left the stream and turned northward.

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