6 The Campeachy Pursuit

Ned decided to water his horse before following further on the Mexican trail, and turned back into the timber to the creek’s edge. Here, as the bank was rather steep, he dismounted in order to lead the horse down. But he paused at the brink when he caught sight of other hoofprints and footprints there. Unshod hoofs had made one set of prints, and feet, that turned in at the toes, had made the other.

The Mexican horses were shod, and the feet of the Mexicans, like those of other white men, did not turn in at the toes. What did it mean? It was certain that other people had brought their horses to this place to drink, but who were they and what were they? All at once he recalled the Campeachy Indians who had been with General Urrea at the taking of Fannin’s men. Yet he had not noticed any of them in the band of the younger Urrea. He looked again at the prints. They were very fresh. It seemed as he examined them more closely that they could not be more than an hour old. No, they were not more than a half hour old.

Ned suddenly sprang back in the bushes, drawing the horse with him by the bridle. Then he stood there in the thick green of the foliage, looking and listening with all the might of his faculties. He had become aware of a presence. It might be that a bush had moved suddenly, or it might have been the sound of a footfall. He did not know what, but he did know that he was not alone.

The sound, if sound it was, had ceased, but Ned felt that whatever had made it was creeping nearer. He could not tell from what direction it approached, but he felt with the full certainty of his five senses that it was coming. Had he not held the bridle of the horse he would have dropped down in the bushes, and have endeavored to creep away. It was, in truth, his first impulse, but if he were not lost now he would be lost later without the horse.

While he hesitated, he saw a naked and yellow shoulder appearing among the bushes not twenty yards away. Then he saw an upraised and bent arm upon which the muscles stood out in surprising fashion. Recognition came in a flash and he dropped like a shot. A great bow twanged, and a steel-headed arrow flashed above his head, burying itself deep in a tree beyond. Had he not dropped it would have gone through him like a bullet.

When he felt the rush of wind above his head Ned sprang up, and another leap carried him to the back of his horse. A second arrow and a bullet also whizzed through the bushes. Ned struck the sides of his horse violently with both feet, and the startled animal rushed toward the prairie. Behind him rose a long and triumphant war whoop, dying away in a wolfish whine.

Ned knew at once the danger. The Campeachy Indians were there, probably a roving detachment now, under no command and seeking scalps and plunder, wherever they could find them. He urged his horse to full speed for eight or ten minutes, before he looked back. They were eight in number, yellowish, powerful savages, naked save for waist cloths, and bearing more resemblance to Asiatics than to the Indians of the States. Only four of them carried rifles or muskets, the rest being armed with bows.

Eight to one, and the wide prairie before! Ned felt a surge of courage. His horse was running steady and true, the powerful muscles rippling away under his shining coat. He remembered another time, when the Lipans had hung for days upon the trail of himself and Obed White. But these Campeachy Indians could not follow so long a time. This was Texas, and, at any moment, Texans might come. No, Ned was not afraid of this new danger. The Providence that had watched over him was with him yet.

As he sat in the saddle with the racing horse beneath and the racing Indians behind he was quite calm. He looked back again, and saw that their firearms were muskets not able to carry far. It was likely that the bows were more dangerous. Even as he looked one of the savages drew his bow to his ear and let fly. It was a powerful weapon, and the arrow, grazing his horse’s flank, sank far beyond the head into the prairie.

The savages uttered a shout at this proof of their marksmanship, and Ned, feeling that the arrow had come uncomfortably close, urged his horse to a little more speed. It showed his wisdom as three or four more arrows that were fired fell short. He fingered the trigger of his rifle, but he concluded to reserve his fire. In a burst of speed the Indians would have no chance with him, but they would hang on with all the tenacity of death itself. He saw that they rode strong and wiry ponies used to great journeys.

Ned was very glad now that Urrea’s band had left the creek, turning in another direction. Otherwise the pursuit would have driven him into the very thick of enemies as dangerous as those behind him. At least he had a fair field for flight. He eased his pace again, keeping just out of range, and rode steadily on for a long time, noting with pleasure that his horse showed but little signs of exhaustion.

It was a golden morning. There had been a vast and brilliant sunburst, and the earth was flooded with yellow rays. The green of spring was dyed to deeper and more vivid hues. On his left the prairie rippled away with the young grass already growing high, and shy little flowers in early bloom. On his right the timber along the creek was a mass of dark green. In his face a crisp fresh wind blew. Despite his situation his spirits rose again, rose to a higher point than they had been at any time since the Alamo and Goliad.

Ned, usually a silent youth, never given to boasting, turned now and taunted. He shouted to them in Spanish, which he thought they would understand. He called them poor warriors, sluggards who could not overtake a single enemy. When they began to urge their ponies to a greater speed he saw that they understood, and he laughed aloud. It was an easy matter for him to shake out the reins on his own horse, and preserve the distance between them.

But this look back revealed, in all its deadly intensity, the purpose of the Indians. They meant to run him down, if it took forever, and they were surely a hideous lot of savages. He had seen ugly people, but these were the ugliest of all. Their yellowish faces and their flattened noses seemed to tell him of Asiatic cruelty. He pulled a little more on the reins of his horse. Then he raised his rifle and fired at the leader. He saw the Indian fall backward from his pony, then, urging his horse to renewed speed, he did not look back again for a full quarter of an hour. He heard the Indians shouting in rage and anger, but he was busy reloading his rifle, and watching the country ahead.

A half hour later the pursuing Indians uttered a shout which sounded like a note of triumph. He looked back at them, and, then looking ahead again, he saw the cause. While he had been engaged in some slight readjustment of his equipment the Indians had noticed it first. A few hundred yards further on the creek suddenly took a sharp angle to the left. He was now riding straight for the timber and the swollen stream, and if he turned to the left also to avoid it, the Indians, by taking the diagonal line of the triangle, could cut him off without doubt. They had good cause for their shout of triumph, and he recognized the fact at once.

Ned’s mind never acted more quickly. His desperate resolve was made in an instant. He would take a last chance, and try to swim his horse across the flooded creek. He returned a cry of defiance to their own shouts of triumph, and rode straight toward the timber. He struck at once a flooded bottom in which the water was six or eight inches deep. He pressed on through it, but the Indians on their lighter ponies gained fast. He had not foreseen this morass, and it was a terrible impediment. The horse had to struggle not only through water, but through mud, which was worse. Once he stumbled, and only a hard pull on the reins kept him from falling.

Now the Indians began to shout continuously in savage glee. This was a sure victim. It was likely that they could get him even before he reached the timber. They were within range now and they began to fire both with bows and muskets, though somewhat wildly. Ned heard bullets and arrows whizzing near, and of the two he dreaded the arrows more. They made such an unpleasant sound.

But the timber was very near now. Once within its green shade he would not make such a conspicuous target. Suddenly he felt the horse shiver all over and then stagger. He looked back and saw an arrow standing out in the animal’s body just behind the saddle. It was buried deep, far beyond the feathered shaft, and Ned shuddered with horror. The machinery beneath him jarred and shook, and he knew that his good horse was gone. The triumphant cry of the Indians, rising now to greater volume, told him that they knew it, too.

But it was a gallant and faithful horse. He made a last effort and plunged into the timber. There he stopped short in the green shade and began to shake violently. Ned, rifle in hand, leaped to the ground. His powder horn and bullet pouch were over his shoulder, and the pistol, hatchet and knife which completed the equipment of the borderer were in his belt. His saddle bags filled with food and his blankets strapped to the saddle he was compelled regretfully to leave.

The horse shook again, more violently than before, and then fell crashing. The arrow had found his life.

“Good-bye, faithful friend,” said Ned, heavy of heart. He plunged into the densest of the timber, near the edge of the creek and ran up the stream. He was hopeful that he might dodge the Indians among the trees and bushes, but, as he ran, he listened. He heard one shout when they came to the fallen horse, then the thud of the hoofs of their own ponies, followed by silence.

He believed it likely that some of the Indians would dismount and hunt through the timber, while others on horseback would ride along its edge, keeping a watch. He ran swiftly, always keeping well hidden among the bushes, and as he advanced the soil became much softer from the overflow. He was always stepping in either mud or water. It annoyed him at first, but he soon recognized its advantage. The soft mud closed over his tracks in a few moments and he was leaving no trail.

Ned continued thus for more than two miles. He was wet to the waist, and the water was mixed with mud. As he ran he had splashed the water and every time his feet were pulled from the mud there was a soughing sound. Had Indians been within a hundred yards of him they could easily have heard these sounds, but he did not believe they were anywhere so near, and he did not take any precaution against noise.

When Ned rested, he sat on the roots of a huge live oak, with his back against the trunk. Bushes and grass, now flooded about the roots, grew all around him. The creek, in ordinary times not more than a foot deep, flowed a swollen yellow flood a hundred feet across and twelve or fifteen deep. Brush, old logs, weeds and other débris floated on its bosom. Wild fowl darted here and there. But it was not a beautiful stream. The flood was dark and ugly and the melancholy foliage of live oaks hung just above the current.

As Ned sat panting, there was a slight movement in the water near him, and he drew himself up swiftly and with a shudder. A short thick water moccasin swam slowly away. In five minutes he rose and plodded on, always keeping to the deep bush, where he was compelled to wade through mud and shallow water. Such travelling was hard, and, although his rest at the live oak had restored him somewhat he found himself growing weary again. But he dared not leave the bush and swamp for the open as he knew that the Indians on their ponies were galloping up and down there and would see him at once.

He looked longingly at the creek. He could swim it, but he had to carry his rifle and other weapons and he could not afford to get his ammunition wet. But there was much greater chance of safety on the other side. He walked perhaps a hundred yards further, and then listened for sounds of pursuit. He heard none, but he knew that the Indians would have no thought of abandoning the chase. In fact, they had every right to consider him an almost sure victim, and he knew it.

He saw one of the large decaying logs, so numerous in any wild forest, lying at the very edge of the deep water, which was pulling hard at it. Only the stumps of its boughs held it, because here the stream was flowing swiftly. The solution of his problem was presented at once to Ned’s quick and ready mind. This was his boat.

He secured his rifle, other weapons and ammunition across his back, broke off one of the longer boughs to be used as a sweep, and, then walked astride the log until he was in water nearly up to his waist. He pushed hard against the bottom with the broken bough, and the tree, coming loose, floated with the stream. But it was a very damp and uneasy craft that Ned bestrode. It wobbled wildly under his weight, and only his dextrous use of the bough kept it from turning over with him. Once or twice he was in alarm lest he should go, despite his sweep, but knowing that he would be helpless with wet ammunition he struggled hard and kept his balance.

The current bore the boy and his strange craft slowly down the stream, and, as he had to devote so much of his time and effort to keeping it steady he could divert it only by inches toward the northern shore. But the strong and skillful use of his sweep told, and he saw himself going slowly in the direction that he wished. Yet it was a tremulous time. The Campeachy Indians might appear at any moment, and, sitting astride a dead tree, there in the midst of the current he would be perfectly helpless. But they did not come. Kindly Providence was still watching over him.

Now the current was growing swifter and he noticed a swirl of water around the flooded trunks of the trees on either shore. Three or four minutes more and the increase of speed was decided. He also heard a faint murmurous sound which grew louder as he went along, and he knew that he was approaching a fall, a most unusual thing in that prairie region. It might not be much of a fall, very little indeed in ordinary times, but with the present flood it would be dangerous. It would, in very truth, be impossible for him to ride any kind of a fall on that shaky and rolling dead tree.

He bent all his efforts now toward reaching the northern bank. He risked everything, and the very speed of the current helped him, shooting him in suddenly toward the shore, where his tree struck among the trunks of some living trees, and began to rock in a way that was beyond the control of his sweep. He made a prodigious effort, drew himself up bodily on the rolling log, rested his feet there just an instant, and, then leaping, grasped a bough of one of the trees.

It was a good strong bough, hanging low over the water, and, with another mighty effort, he drew himself upon it. He sat there a few moments trembling from the physical effort, and watched his rude raft, its purpose served, float swiftly down the stream sucked away by the current. He heard the rush of water distinctly now, and he knew that the fall was very near.

The trees were very dense at that point and he was able to pass from one to another until he reached a place where the water was not more than a foot deep. Then he dropped to the ground and waded until he came to fairly solid earth. Still keeping in the timber he went down stream a little further and saw the fall, only a few feet high, but with a great volume of flood water, pouring over it. His tree would certainly have overturned there, and he was doubtful whether he could have escaped with his life.

While he stood among the trees watching the fall he saw several of the Indians on horseback appear on the further shore.

The timber was now much more dense on his side of the stream and it was easy for him crouching among the bushes to escape observation, and yet watch them as they rode up and down the shore, searching for him about the fall. At last, they disappeared among the trees and bushes further down the stream, and, judging that they would continue in that direction some time, he went back the other way.

Ned now felt fairly safe for the present, but his situation was full of hardship. He was wet, muddy and exhausted. He had lost all his supplies of food in the swollen creek and his good horse was dead. Many a lad would have given up, but it was never in his heart to yield. He left the timber and went out far enough on the prairie to get the full benefit of the sunshine, until his clothing was dried completely. Vigorous walking also kept up the circulation of his blood and the warmth of his body.

But that famous spring in Texas was cold, dark and rainy, and this day was no exception. Heavy clouds came, the sky grew somber and the air chill. A cutting wind began to blow and Ned was afraid of a norther. He turned back into the timber which gave fair shelter from the wind, and, finally coming to a hillock, where the earth was dry he sat down with his back against a tree.

He did not become conscious, until he stopped walking, of his nearness to exhaustion. With his back against the tree he seemed to collapse like a body without a spine. He breathed heavily and jerkily for a long time, but finally the beat of his heart became steady, and then he felt a great peace. The sense of rest and safety pervaded his whole being. Danger was very far away now, and, for the present, he need think little about it. The wind which was cold on the prairie blew soothingly among the woods where he sat. It was a pleasant music, softening everything and lulling him to deeper rest. While never intending it he fell asleep, back to the tree, and slept a long time.

Ned was awakened by something cold dashed in his face, and he sprang to his feet. It was quite dark and the rain was falling again. A pain shot through his joints, but as he walked vigorously around the tree and stretched himself it disappeared. He had no idea what time it might be. No moon and stars shone. The one dominating fact was the unpleasant rain.

Ned for a few moments was at the verge of despair, but he summoned his courage anew. He recalled the stories of the vast border that stretched northward to Canada, how men, and women and children even had triumphed over hardship after hardship, over danger after danger. Weak human bodies had survived impossible sufferings and had achieved impossible tasks. It was not for him in the very flower and bloom of youth and strength, to lie down there and die.

He sought some place where he might find shelter from the rain, but as he found none, plunging about in the darkness, he decided to take to the open prairie. There, at least, he would not break his neck or a leg in the timber. He was glad when he left the last bushes behind, and, pressing on far enough, found himself standing on firm ground. As nearly as he could judge by the faint light he had reached a swell of the prairie, but he saw that he must keep moving. The cold wind was coming with cutting force, and the rain was driven before it in sheets.

He remembered to keep his powder dry under his clothing and he staggered on, not knowing in what direction he was going, nor how long he went. Several times, as he passed between the swells, he waded through water six or eight inches deep. It seemed to him that there was water everywhere. His weary brain reckoned that it must cover all Texas, except the mountain tops.

The rain lightened by and by, and, later on at some unknown hour, he saw a red spark in the darkness and storm. It was such an incredible, such an impossible thing that he winked his eyes fast, and then rubbed them. The red spark was still there, a star of hope amid illimitable gloom. He walked toward it, and knew now that it was a light, the light of a camp fire. Only a number of men could keep a fire going amid so much water.

Star of hope, though it might be, Ned was very wary. The Texans were further northward and it was likely that it was made by Urrea’s band or some portion of it. But he would not turn away. It was better to take the risk than to perish in the night and storm. As he drew nearer, he saw that the fire was in a deep dip of the prairie sheltered partially by mesquite. Nearer yet, and he saw dark figures outlined before the red blaze. It was easy to approach unseen. The darkness covered him and his feet made no sound in the soft earth.

Ned paused at a little distance, and looked at the dusky figures, hovering in a close ring about the fire. They were seven in number. All were wrapped closely in blankets, but the faces of those on the far side were outlined distinctly by the red blaze. He saw yellowish complexions and high cheek bones, and he knew that here were the Campeachy Indians, minus the one who had fallen to his rifle.

They too had crossed the creek, perhaps in search of him, or perhaps to join Urrea. As he looked, one of them threw old buffalo chips on the fire and then all hovered more closely, basking in the warm and grateful heat that defied wind and rain. It was not likely that any of them dreamed of the presence of another human being near, in all that vast and desolate wilderness.

Ned’s heart was filled with envy. Savage and cruel though they were, he would have been glad to sit with them in that hovering circle about the fire. He would have rejoiced to touch elbows with a savage on either side, if he could only have bent his face over the glowing coals, and have felt the glorious warmth penetrating through every bone.

It was with a genuine sigh that he turned away. Then he stopped. Where were their ponies? They were bound to be somewhere near. There was not room for them in the little dip where the fire shone, and, at last, searching everywhere with his eyes, he saw them tied with lariats to some mesquite, and crouching close together for warmth. Then Ned took counsel of courage and resolved to stake everything on one last attempt.

He was skillful with horses, knowing how to soothe them with touch and voice, and now he began a slow and cautious approach to the huddled group by the mesquite. Doubtless those Indian ponies had gone through many a storm and many another hardship, but it was evident to Ned that they had had enough for one night. Their disconsolate heads were lowered, and they were continually crowding together. If they heard Ned they paid no attention to him.

The wind rose and howled over the prairie in a strange weird chorus, like the hungry chant of wolves. Ned cast another look at the dip, and he saw that the Indians were bent so far over the fire that at the distance their heads seemed to touch. Wrapped in their blankets they sat there silent and immovable around that single core of light in the immense wilderness. How could they dream that any one, especially the one whom they had hunted so lately, could be near!

Ned approached more boldly. He uttered a low, soft whistle unheard by the Indians because of the shrieking wind, and he saw one pony hold up his head. A little nearer and yet a little nearer and the whistle lower than before, soft, musical and soothing, was repeated. Ned cast a last glance at the Indians in the dip. Not one of them had moved a fraction of an inch. They made the same silent ring around the fire.

Now Ned ceased to whistle, and spoke softly as he came very near to the ponies. He used to them soothing words in Spanish and English, he told them that he was their friend, that he had come to do them good, that he would release them from ignominious servitude under hard and savage taskmasters. He would do more, he would give freedom to all except one, but the exception should be chosen not as the servant, but as the friend of one who knew how to treat a horse well.

The ponies moved about a little, but made no effort to get away from him. He reached out a hand and stroked the nose of the one that had heard him first. He was a fine, strong mustang, made of steel wire, and when his nose was rubbed he rubbed back, uttering a grateful sound like the purring of a cat. Then Ned stroked his mane, and their friendly relations grew. The other ponies crowded near, finding comfort perhaps in the human relationship.

Ned cut the eight lariats one by one. Then he sprang suddenly on the back of the first pony, kicked violently one on each side with either foot, and, uttering a series of tremendous shouts thundered away over the plain, with the seven riderless ponies racing madly ahead of him.

He heard a whoop and then a long whining cry from the dip, but the rest of that wild ride was a series of almost unrelated but vivid impressions. He gave the pony his head—in fact he had nothing but the lariat with which to guide him—knowing that the wary mustang would not trip or fall, and let him run in a direction which he sanguinely reckoned was toward the north. The other ponies streamed out in front, their great eyes distended, their manes flying, their swift feet urged on continually by the wild youth who rode behind them.

The pony had no saddle, but Ned was a sure rider, and he kept his seat with ease and certainty. He took only one flying glance backward, but he saw nothing. The spark of fire had gone long since, and the warriors on foot were too far behind to be heard. Before him was only the dark prairie, but he did not care. Something in his head had given way, and while the wind and rain lashed him he shouted continually, urging on his own horse and the ponies ahead of him to greater speed. Occasionally he turned his head and sent backward in the darkness a long, defiant shout. Whether the Campeachy Indians heard or not he never knew.

Ned’s excitement, and it was of a joyous kind, grew fast. The slipping of that little spring in his head had upset all the rest. He was trembling all over, but it was not from fear or weakness. It came from the certainty that he had triumphed over such tremendous difficulties. The ponies ran on for a long time and then slackened to a walk. Ned had collected his mind sufficiently to know that the Indians were many miles behind, and could not possibly overtake him that night. Indeed the chances were great that he would never see them again. His stampede had been a brilliant success.

He pulled himself together slowly. The something that had gone wrong inside his head was going right again. His eyes had been hot with fever, but now they grew cool. The mustang, despite his frame of steel and his endurance, was now trudging along wearily. He was wet, but despite his wild flight, he had kept his weapons and ammunition dry under his deerskin hunting shirt.

It was still raining, and he yet heard the long-drawn shriek of the wind, as it swept through the swells, but he was rejoicing so much over his brilliant feat that he did not think of the wet and cold now. He could make nothing of the country. As far as he could see in the darkness, it seemed to be the usual alternation of dips and ridges.

His horse comrades, now that he had ceased to shout and no panic was driving them, began to drift away. Perhaps they had been wild horses when seized by the Indians and now they took their chance of freedom. Presently Ned was alone with the one that he rode and he did not care. He guided his own horse easily with the lariat, and perhaps the mustang was too tired to seek liberty for himself.

The night was still very dark, but his eyes had grown so used to it that he could see a short distance, and he noticed for the first time a slender dark coil tied around the neck of the mustang. He took it off and found, to his intense delight that it was jerked venison, enclosed in a strip of deerskin, a yard long, amply sufficient to meet around the neck of his horse. The Indian’s choice of a way to carry his food had been a godsend to Ned.

The boy ate eagerly, but the nature of the jerked venison kept him from eating too fast. He chewed resolutely on the tough strips, and let his horse wander as he would over the prairie. The food brought back fresh strength, warmed his blood anew, and encouraged him for the great risks that were yet before him. Truly, if the Panther, Smith and Karnes had seen him that night and had known all through which he had gone with so much success they would have acclaimed him anew, and with yet greater emphasis as their bringer of luck, their magic leader, chosen for the purpose, although wholly unconscious of the fact himself.

The rain abated after a while and the wind died. Ned saw something gleaming in front of him, and then the horse turned aside. It was a shallow lake made by the heavy rains, and he could not see across it, or the end to either right or left. But he let the mustang turn to the left and walk on until he passed around it. He was still chewing the tough venison, and the task was so grateful that he did not care where the horse carried him.

Near morning he reached a clump of timber and decided to stop there. He tied his mustang securely with his lariat, and, despite his wet clothes and the wet earth, lay down and slept. He believed that he was so hardened now to weather that he could not take any further harm. When he awoke the day was several hours old, and a bright, warm sun was shining.

Ned felt a little stiffness and his clothing was still wet, but he was refreshed and strong. The captured mustang was eating grass within the circle of his lariat. The boy was about to begin his breakfast on the jerked venison, when he caught a glimpse of bronze among the boughs of a tall tree fifty yards away. He knew that it was a wild turkey, that unintentional friend of the pioneer. and fresh wild turkey was far more juicy and succulent than tough strips of dried venison.

He stalked the tree, which contained a dozen turkeys, and shot a fat hen. Then began the long task of lighting a fire with flint and steel, one achieved with the greatest difficulty under such circumstances, but it was done at last. Then he cooked and ate. Meanwhile the sun had dried his clothing, and, remounting, he resumed his journey, keeping a northward course by the sun.

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