7 Across the Brazos

Ned intended to reach the Brazos, and he believed that it was not far ahead. The increasingly watery nature of the country made him think so. He saw many of the shallow lakes, like the one that he had passed in the night, and he saw also the little prairie streams swollen to creeks and even rivers. He was descending perceptibly, and it was sure proof to him that he was coming into the Brazos bottoms. Unless he had passed Houston further back toward the Colorado he would surely find him somewhere along this river, which the spring floods had made a giant stream.

Ned was surprised that he had not already encountered some Texan outpost. He did not know then how far the Texan retreat had gone, and with what energy the overwhelming Mexican columns were pressing forward. Santa Anna had changed his intention to return to the City of Mexico. Assured by Almonte and Filisola that the Texans were not yet conquered, and, receiving definite news that a new Texan army was gathering, he had recalled the portion of his troops who were to have been sent home, and was now concentrating all his fiery energy on the task of destroying Houston and the remaining Texans. With the Alamo and Goliad so fresh in his mind, he had no doubt of his swift success. It was only a detail and a delay.

But Ned, as he rode along knew nothing of Santa Anna’s movements. The day was fortunately clear and bright, one of the few in that brief but epic period, and, with those uncommonly keen eyes of his, he continually scanned every point of the horizon for horsemen. It was far in the afternoon when he saw a single figure to the west, just a dim blur against the blue sky that touched the ground. Eyes, less good and less trained than his, would have passed it unseeing, but he knew that it was a man and a horse.

He stopped and watched the low shadow against the sky a long time. Was it a Mexican or was it a Texan? And if a Mexican, were there other shadows behind the single one that he could see? He became sure that it was not moving and he concluded the man was an outpost. Hence it was likely that he was not alone. Armed with his good rifle and abundant experience he was not afraid of a single man and he rode boldly toward the figure.

He laid his rifle across the mustang’s shoulders, from which he could raise it, take aim and fire with a single continuous motion, and kept steadily ahead. Now the figures of horse and man became distinct against the low blue sky. The rider had seen Ned, too, as he was facing him with the muzzle of a rifle thrust forward. Except for turning his horse about he had made no motion whatever, but sat steadfast, gazing intently at the boy on a bare-backed mustang who was coming straight toward him.

Ned was now sure that the man was a Texan. The signs were unmistakable. Those great shoulders and that length of limb did not belong to a Mexican. Nor would a Mexican sit thus silent and motionless, awaiting the coming of a probable foe. It was a Texan! It must be a Texan! And a Texan was a friend. He held his rifle aloft in sign of amity and shouted:

“I’m a friend! I come from the south and I’m looking for Sam Houston!”

“That’s a Texan voice, an’ I’m a Texan, too,” said the man. “Come on an’ tell who you are!”

Now Ned’s last little doubt disappeared, and he rode forward at increased speed. He saw a man in early middle age, sun-browned and powerful, riding a large American horse and armed thoroughly for battle. The countenance was not wholly unfamiliar to Ned. Suddenly he remembered that broad benignant face, and the kindly blue eyes.

“You’re Jim Potter,” he cried, “yes, I know you are! We were together for a while in the San Antonio campaign! Don’t you remember?”

The man was staring at him in the deepest astonishment, an astonishment that increased as Ned drew nearer.

“I remember the San Antonio campaign,” he said, “but I don’t remember you. I don’t believe anybody would remember you. You have the human shape an’ your voice sounds like that of a human bein’, but you don’t look like one. I don’t see nothin’ much but a bundle of rags stuck together with mud, an’ hung astride an Indian mustang that ain’t got on any saddle or bridle.”

But Ned was not daunted at all. He was too full of joy and excitement.

“But you will remember me, Jim Potter,” he said, “you have to do it. I’m Ned Fulton. I was in prison in the City of Mexico with Mr. Austin. You and I fought together in the San Antonio campaign, and then I was in the Alamo and at Goliad.”

“Thunderation!” Potter exclaimed, staring at him open-eyed. “Yes, I knew that Ned Fulton, and a fine boy he was! Your voice sounds like his, an’ now that I rec’lect your figger under all that mud looks like his, an’ by thunder you are him. Give us your paw, Ned. I’m terrible glad you’re alive, though you are the finest scarecrow I ever saw in all my life.”

Ned grasped the powerful hand and he laughed in his excitement and joy.

“I know I’m no beauty,” he said, “and you wouldn’t be either if you’d been through what I have. But tell me first where is Houston?”

“In the bottoms of the Brazos, on this side, when I was sent to keep watch out here, but I guess he ain’t there now. He was meanin’ to cross and camp in the bottoms on the other side. But it’s been rainin’ like all tarnation nearly every day since I left. The Brazos must be runnin’ like a sea through all the bottoms on both sides, an’ I guess Houston an’ his men have lit out for higher an’ drier ground on the far shore. Now, Ned, boy, what news do you bring?”

“I’m on my way to Houston to tell him that there are Texans in the south, a strong body, who have gathered there to help him. They are cutting in as much as they can on the Mexican flank and rear, thinking they could do more good that way than any other, but the moment Houston wants them to join him they’ll come.”

“That’s good! That’s good!” exclaimed Potter joyfully. “I tell you, Ned, every fightin’ man is now wuth his weight in gold. We need them men an’ we need ’em now. We’ve got to send south for ’em right off.”

“In what way?” asked Ned. “I can’t turn around and go back, until I’ve seen Houston.”

“No, you can’t, that’s sure, but if you’ll tell me where this party has gathered I’ll do it myself. There’s another sentinel about ten miles on, an’ I’ll take you to him. Then you’ll tell me exactly where this Camp Independence of yours is, an’ I’ll ride straight to it.”

“All right,” said Ned, “lead on.”

Potter at once turned his horse northward and the two rode side by side at a brisk pace. Presently Potter’s face broke into a broad grin.

“Ned,” he said, “if we had time you could stop and wash your face with profit to your looks. I can say also that if I had ’em I’d lend you a lot of clothes. And I’d lend you a saddle an’ a bridle, too. I’ve seen some tough looking specimens in my time, but I think you’re way ahead of all the others on tough looks.”

“I know I’m no beauty,” said Ned, “but I’m alive. I’ve lived, Jim, when it was something just to keep on drawing your breath.”

“You’ve done what not one man in a thousand could do,” said Potter in a deep and hearty tone. “It just looked to me, Ned, when you told me all about it, that you was watched over by somethin’ more pow’ful than Santa Anna or anything on this earth.”

Here it was again. Jim Potter, although he had heard no such suggestion from them, was sharing with the Panther, Smith and Karnes the belief that Ned had been chosen for a task, and that a supreme power was watching over him, while he was doing it. But no such thought entered the mind of the boy.

“I had luck,” he said, “lots of it, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Seems to me that luck was dead ag’in you,” said Jim Potter, shaking his head, “an’ that by miracles you crawled through all them dangers. But that ain’t neither here nor there. We’ve got to git you to Houston an’ I’ve got to git down to Deaf Smith an’ that crowd. There are two bands of Texans that need joinin’ bad, an’ if we do git ’em together we may ketch the Mexicans both comin’ an’ goin’.”

“I take it from what you say,” said Ned, “that things are moving fast.”

“They shorely are. That devil Santa Anna is pushin’ ’em on. He thinks he’ll clean us out in short order. Anyway, there’s goin’ to be a big mix-up before long. Now just beyond that clump of timber that you see on the hill in front we ought to find Stump.”

“Stump! Who’s Stump?”

“Stump is Bill Burke, though lots of people don’t know his right name. When you see him you’ll understand why we call him Stump.”

Potter put two fingers a little apart against his mouth and blew a shrill, piercing whistle between them. A reply in kind came from some point beyond the trees.

“That’s him,” said Potter. “Ol’ Stump is where he belongs. Come on, Ned.”

They rode forward rapidly. A horseman, emerging from the shelter, came to meet them, giving Potter a friendly hail as he came, but the hail was uttered in an extraordinary voice. It seemed more like the roar of a lion than the tones of a human being. Ned, too, saw instantly, as Potter had predicted, why he was called Stump. His body was exceedingly short, and his feet rested in shortened stirrups, but the thickness of him was something tremendous. He had a huge head, with the hair cut very close, contrary to the border fashion, and shoulders and chest such as one sees in old statues of Jupiter. The hand that held his bridle rein looked like the paw of a grizzly bear.

“I know why you call him Stump,” said Ned.

“Did a name ever fit better?” said Potter, laughing, “an’ I want to say to you, Ned, that he’s an oak stump, too, just the toughest an’ most endurin’ oak that you ever heard of or that ever was growed. When he sets his feet in the ground it takes forty oxen an’ a log chain to drag him out.”

“Hello, Jim!” thundered Stump, “what in thunderation have you got there? Is it the great horned gyascutis of the mountains or is it a mud image that you’ve made, an’ set on a mustang for company?”

’“Tain’t neither. An’, first you quit your roarin’ an’ bellowin’, Stump. If you’ve got to talk that way when you talk out between your teeth, just you whisper. This that’s ridin’ by the side of me on the mustang that you speak of so disrespectful is a boy, a big boy an’ a live boy that you’ve heard of. A boy that’s already done more wonderful things than you’ve ever done, an’ you’ve done a lot. He’s Ned Fulton, the one that went through the Alamo an’ a thousand other dangers afore an’ since. He’s come to tell us there’s a crowd of Texans in the south, an’ I’m goin’ back to git ’em, while you take him on to Houston with your news.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of you, Ned, an’ I’m glad to see you,” thundered Stump.

The unfinished colossus grasped Ned’s hand in his tremendous paw, and gave it a shake that made him quiver all over.

“You’re a good fighter, I’ve heard, an’ I’m proud to know you,” he said. “I like brave people, but I ain’t a fightin’ man, myself. I won’t fight at all unless I’m driv to it. I’d rather be back in the States, ploughin’ corn an’ talkin’ peaceful to the old mule than be here. Jim, what do you reckon ever made a coward like me come to Texas?”

“I guess it was because you thought you’d be safe under the rule of Santa Anna. He’s such a good kind man that he wouldn’t let any feller speak harsh to a tender little lamb like you, an’ you knowed it. You come a-runnin’ as soon as you heard that Santa Anna was here to protect you.”

“I reckon that was it,” said Stump resignedly. “I do the best I can, Ned, though it’s pretty hard on a feller who’s most skeered to death, night an’ day. But I guess we ain’t got any time to lose. Come on, an’ I’ll be your brother, since you’re losin’ Jim, who has to go back for them other fellers.”

They lingered only a few minutes. Ned gave Potter explicit directions about Camp Independence, and, as the man knew the country, he was sure to find it quickly, unless he was taken or slain by Indians or Mexicans. But Potter rode away confidently, and waved them good-bye from a distant swell.

“There goes a brave man,” said Stump with a sigh. “I wish I was as brave as he was. Do you think, Ned, that we’re goin’ to have a big fight?”

“It’s bound to come sooner or later.”

“An’ I suppose I’ll have to be in it,” again sighing.

“I think it likely,” said Ned, a twinkle in his eye. “They need strong men like you.”

Stump’s face was illumined immediately. Evidently Ned had touched him in his proud spot.

“I am strong,” he said. “I reckon I’m the strongest man in all Texas ’cept the Panther, him that you’ve been runnin’ with. I wonder why I was sawed off so short.”

“I suppose,” said Ned, in his most flattering tone, “it was because they began to build you on such a great scale that the material of the high quality needed gave out before they were through.”

Stump’s face brightened.

“Do you really think that’s so, Ned?”

“I’ve no doubt of it.”

“It makes me feel good to hear you say so, so I reckon it’s true. Now, take a look from this hill, Ned. You see that sheet of yellow water stretched out there, with trees and bushes growin’ out of it. Somewhere in the middle of all that water the Brazos River is runnin’. The rest of it, I guess, is a lake made by the big spring rains. You an’ me have got to cross it to reach Houston, but as it is two or three miles wide here we can’t swim it with our horses.”

“Then how are we to get across?”

“There’s a ferry lower down, where a black fellow would take us in his boat, an’ if we think we can’t get down to him soon enough I know where there’s a canoe hid among the bushes, that’ll take over a coward of a man like me an’ a brave boy like you. At that place the horses can swim, restin’ on the little islands here an’ there.”

“Is there any reason why we can’t go on to the ferry?”

“I’ve a notion from what you say that Mexicans are somewhere pretty near the Brazos. Maybe Urrea an’ that band of his are already on the bank, an’ I’m plum’ skeered lest we run into ’em. Anyway we can’t cross before mornin’, cause you an’ me, Ned, have to ride mighty careful. Take this blanket of mine an’ double it under you. It ain’t no fun ridin’ a bare-backed horse for a month or two.”

Ned took it gladly.

“Now,” said Stump, “I think we’d better go down stream an’ take it slow for a while. I ain’t got any taste for runnin’ into a swarm of Mexicans. It don’t suit a peace-lovin’ man like me, an’ besides you an’ that pony of yours need rest.”

Ned was not at all averse, as his limbs had begun to ache from so much riding, and they let their horses go at a moderate walk, keeping on the firm ground, away from the flooded valley of the Brazos.

“Terrible things have been done this spring in Texas,” said Stump, “an’ I guess God has made the weather to suit. Rain an’ rain an’ rain. Wind an’ hail an’ black days an’ Northers. It may cloud up ag’in in an hour or two, an’ bust loose like all the imps of Satan unchained. Now, Ned, what would you say that was shinin’ ’cross the prairie there?”

“It’s the flash of sunlight from the long blades of Mexican lances. I’ve seen it before often, and I can’t mistake it.”

“I was sure of it myself, but thinkin’ that mebbe your eyes was keener than mine, I asked you. Trouble is shorely comin’ for a peaceful man. I wish I was back in North Caroliny where I come from, and I wish it hard.”

“No you don’t, Stump, and you can’t make me believe that you do.”

Stump took off his hat and shook his head with a peculiar threatening motion. Immense, round and clipped close it was a formidable head. Ned saw the great nostrils swell as if the man already smelled battle.

“Do you reckon, Ned, that it’s Urrea’s band, the one that gave you so much trouble?”

Ned looked long before he answered.

“No, I don’t think it is,” he replied. “This force is too big to be Urrea’s, Stump. There must be two hundred lancers alone besides infantry. And I think too, Stump, that I see a cannon.”

“So do I, Ned. If it ain’t a cannon it’s somethin’ else on wheels, an’ it makes me shake all over with fear. I reckon that one of their generals with a big force is about to reach the Brazos.”

“It would appear so, but we must look further into this, Stump.”

“Of course. That’s what we’re here for, at least I am. We’ll keep among these cottonwoods, an’ we’ll go as near as we dare. I reckon we’d better keep on walkin’ so our horses will be fresh for a dash, if we have to gallop for our lives.”

Luckily the timber was very heavy along the Brazos, and keeping in its shelter they edged gradually toward the advancing Mexican force. They soon saw that their surmises were correct. The new body assumed the dimensions of an army, outnumbering by far any that Houston could possibly have.

As Ned and Stump looked from their covert in the bushes they saw the division go into camp on a broad expanse of high ground. The horsemen dismounted and tethered their horses. Rifles, muskets and lances were stacked, the cannon were drawn up in a row, and men began to build fires.

“I guess it’s the division of Gaona or Sesma, an’ to think of me standin’ here, shakin’ in my shoes an’ lookin’ at a whole Mexican army,” whispered Stump.

“No, it is not the division of Gaona, nor is it that of Sesma,” said Ned. “It is the army of Santa Anna himself, because I see him now, and I ought to know him.”

“Where? Where?” asked Stump eagerly. “I never put eyes on Santa Anna an’ I’d like to see him.”

“There, under the great cottonwood, the little man in the fine uniform and the big cocked hat. See how all the others bow to him.”

Stump raised himself in the bushes and strained his in a devouring gaze upon this man who seemed to the Texans a very arch-demon. Santa Anna, with his back against the great cottonwood, was occupying a seat that the soldiers had made hastily for him. His uniform, though stained with mud, was of the most splendid material, heavy with gold epaulets and gold stripes. His great cocked hat shaded his dark face, but the face itself, despite its darkness, was tinged somewhat with pallor from a long and exhausting march. He had drawn his troops forward with all his energy, seeking to capture the last of the Texans.

The heart of Santa Anna, at that moment, was full of evil passion. He hated the Texans with all the power of a strong and malignant nature. These wretched interlopers had interfered too much with his plans, and it hurt his pride all the more, because they were so few. He had destroyed them at the Alamo and Goliad, but they persisted. His officers told him that this fellow Houston was still on the Brazos, with a ragged band, and he, the great, the illustrious Santa Anna, the lord of a land as large as half Europe, was compelled to hunt him down. He must toil through the mud here and delay his splendid triumph in the streets of the great capital.

Santa Anna leaned his head against the tree and looked around at his army. Surely such a force as this would soon put an end to the miserable Texans. He drew a small gold box from the inside of his coat, took from it a pinch of a dark drug and put it in his mouth. Soon his weariness vanished under the influence of the opium, and splendid visions came. He was the greatest man in the world, since Napoleon Bonaparte, and there was no limit to what he might achieve. The taking of Houston and the last of the Texans became but a trifling incident that he would dispose of within a week.

Meanwhile, Ned and Stump were watching him from the bushes with the fascinated eyes of those who gaze between the bars at a great tiger. Ned remembered that terrible morning at the Alamo, when he had been forced to look on at the slaughter of his comrades. He had seen Santa Anna then as Satan, and he seemed no less evil now. He saw Bowie and Crockett and Travis and the others again and a red mist came before his eyes. The great pulses leaped, and began to beat hard. He hated this man. He hated him with a concentrated power and energy of which he had not believed himself capable.

“An’ so that’s Santa Anna,” whispered Stump. “I never before saw a little man look so big. What was the stuff that he slipped in his mouth, Ned?”

“Opium. I’ve seen him take it before.”

“Opium? Well, we Texans don’t need any drugs, but he is cert’nly wicked lookin’. Still, Ned, skeered as I am of fightin’ I’d like to have him out here in the bushes for about five minutes. There’d be one devil the less in the universe.”

“You can’t get at him, at least not now, but our time may come, Stump; it may come. Ah, there is Almonte! See him, the tall young man. He is a Mexican whom you would like. He treated me kindly, when I was a prisoner among them, and he is a brave and humane man.”

“I think we’ve looked long enough,” said Stump. “You an’ me know what’s here now, an’ we know what threatens Houston. It’s time we was crossin’ the Brazos with the news. We’ve got to take the canoe that I told you of, an’ let our horses swim from island to island.”

“You’re right, Stump,” said Ned. “Now that we know what we’ve got to expect, the sooner we leave the better.”

They slipped from the bushes, mounted and rode rapidly up the stream. Already the day was waning. Behind them they saw the fires of Santa Anna’s camp, and ahead they saw the coming twilight. It was about two miles, so Stump said, to the place where the canoe lay hidden, and they did not spare their horses.

The twilight had passed, and the night had come, when they reached the hiding place of the canoe. The wind shifted, the clouds came and drizzling rain began to fall again. It seemed to Ned that it was forever raining in that famous spring in Texas, and it was a fact that had a deep influence on the great events to come.

They were compelled to ride their horses through shallow water, the overflow of the Brazos, before they reached the bushes in the edge of the main stream, among which the canoe had been sunk.

“S’pose it ain’t here,” said Stump, “s’pose the risin’ waters have carried it away, or some prowlin’ scamp found it an’ took it before the waters riz. Me bein’ of a despondent nature, it clean fills me with fear to think of it.”

“What shall we do if we don’t find it?” asked Ned.

“If we don’t find that canoe, then you an’ me hev got to cross the Brazos some way or other, stay on our horses as long as they can swim an’ then if they give out take to the water, an’ swim the rest of the way ourselves.”

Ned laughed outright.

“What you laughin’ at?” asked Stump suspiciously.

“It seems to me that for a coward you’ve marked out a pretty bold and grand attempt.”

“I’m bein’ pushed on. I tell you, Ned, I’m bein’ an’ you’re bein’ pushed on, if ever men was. When I looked on that devil, Santa Anna, settin’ there in all his triumph, J felt like we was the few Greeks that I’ve heard of in the old histories, an’ that he was the king of the Persians comin’ with a hundred to one. What was his name, that old king?”

“Xerxes,” said Ned, upon whose mind the simile cut deep, “and I tell you, Stump, you’ve got it. That’s just the way it is. Santa Anna is like that old Xerxes. He’s come with his overwhelming numbers. The Alamo was our Thermopylæ, and Goliad was the sack and burning of Athens. But we’ll beat him yet, as the Greeks beat Xerxes.”

“Of course we will, Ned. A man ain’t ever beat, ’cept when he gives up, an’ you don’t have to give up. Glory, here’s the canoe all right, an’ the paddle in her. The risin’ waters haven’t taken her away or hurt her either, two things of which I was afear’d. Ned, you must have brought us luck. Things are runnin’ smoother with me now since you come. Help me bail out the canoe, an’ I’ll do the paddlin’ while you rest. You need it an’ you’ve won the right to it.”

They stood in water to their thighs, until the canoe was bailed out completely. Then they climbed gingerly into the frail and rocking craft, laying their rifles beside them. Stump took the paddle, and Ned took the lariats of the two horses which were to follow, wading at first, then swimming. Paddling a canoe is a delicate task at any time, and it was complicated by the horses which might pull on the lariats, and upset them.

“You keep up close as you can, Ned,” said Stump, “with a lot of purchase on the lariats, so they can’t give too sudden a jerk. You an’ me have just got to get across this river, an’ we’ll need the horses afterward. I tell you, Ned, we must reach the other side, if it was a thousand miles away, with the news that Santa Anna an’ all them hordes of his are at hand.”

He spoke with fiery energy. His assumed manner of timidity was wholly gone. The man’s vast shoulders and chest seemed to swell through his clothes, as courage and resolution poured into every vein. He settled himself squarely in the center of the boat and grasped the paddle in powerful hands.

“Now, Ned,” he said, “you handle them lariats, as if you was the greatest horse breaker the world has ever seen, an’ keep ’em straight behind us. They’ll have to wade quite a piece before they strike the main stream of the Brazos.”

“I’m ready,” said Ned, full of confidence. “I can manage them.”

Stump gave the paddle a sweep, and the canoe emerged slowly from the bushes. It was not his intention to go fast at least at first, owing to the difficulty about the horses. But Ned spoke soothingly to the animals. He called to them softly, he encouraged them to come on and he pulled gently on the lariats.

“That’s right,” said Stump, “talk to ’em, call ’em nice names, tell ’em they’re the finest horses in the world, tell ’em that the Brazos may be in flood an’ two miles wide, but they can swim it, an’ they’re the only two horses in the world that can. Horses are like people, flatter ’em an’ you’ve got ’em.”

Ned obeyed. He continued his mild and soothing talk to the horses, and they followed without hesitation, wading deeper and deeper into the yellow stream, until the water rose to their bodies. Then they began to swim, easily and powerfully, following the boat steadily, as if the fortunes of their masters were their own. The canoe itself, so great was Stump’s dexterity and strength, scarcely rocked in the current. But full need had he of his skill that night. Entire trees, bushes and quantities of other débris came down on the current, but he always avoided them or pushed them aside.

In the tensity of those moments Ned had forgotten that the rain was sweeping against them. Overhead the menacing clouds were trooping across the sky. Far off, the wind was moaning and now that they were in the deep water, and, beyond the line of flooded trees and bushes, Ned felt the full majesty and desolation of the great scene spread before him. They were in the midst of a sea of yellow waters, broken both on the near and far sides by little islands which in reality were knolls covered with clumps of trees.

The scene was indescribably impressive to Ned. The great yellow river flowed slowly on, trees and bushes upon its bosom, its surface broken into waves by the wind which was now blowing steadily from the west. Far off on the horizon there was a dull low muttering of thunder, and, now and then, a stroke of lightning flared across the sky, bringing into vivid relief the yellow river, the black forests on either shore, and the lone canoe, with its two occupants, and the horses swimming behind them. Once or twice, the lightning was so vivid and intense that the surface of the river was turned from yellow to red.

“Here’s an islan’,” said Stump. “It’s what would be a high part of the bank in low water, an’ I think we’d better let the horses rest on it a while. I tell you, Ned, I’m mighty glad you’re along with me. A timid man like me, alone in all this, would be terribly scared.”

“It’s certainly a nice, balmy summer night,” said Ned.

Stump paddled the canoe to the knoll, merely the crest of which showed above the water, and pushed it among the trees, which held it against the drawing power of the current. The horses stood close to the canoe, not much above their knees in water, panting and evidently anxious to keep human companionship. Stump looked at them pityingly.

“We’ve got to give ’em a good rest here,” he said, ’“cause we’re about to enter the main stream of the Brazos. It looks like it’s flowin’ slow, Ned, but all that mighty mass of water will pull at us awful hard. I think we’d better make for that bunch of trees, stickin’ out ’bout a quarter of a mile down. You can see it the next time the lightnin’ comes. We’ve got to go partly with the stream.”

The lightning flared again across the broad waters, and Ned saw the dark projecting line of the trees that Stump had indicated. This was one of the uncommonly vivid flashes and the whole surface of the water between them and the trees blazed with red, the same tint of red that had surcharged the air at the Alamo and Goliad. He was no less glad than Stump that he was not alone. This shortened Hercules was just such a comrade as he would have wished at such a time.

They remained a full half hour on the knoll, in order to give the horses a good rest. Then Stump paddled the canoe into the main channel, seeking a diagonal course across it, and paddling with all his power toward the point that they had selected, and which they saw frequently by the increasing flashes of lightning. He felt now the immense power of that slow huge current pulling at them through the thin sides of the canoe. Yet he was not afraid. Somehow, his mind, bent upon so great a task, became attuned to the tremendous might of nature around him.

The horses swam steadily and powerfully. There was no danger now that they would pull on the lariats, as they kept close to the canoe, ever seeking that human companionship which seemed to them to hold them secure amid dangers.

The wind rose, and Ned felt the canoe swinging. He swayed, too, to preserve the balance, and all the while the peerless canoeman, the shortened Hercules, kept the balance of the tiny craft, and drove it surely toward the further shore. Soon they were in the middle of the stream, and Ned’s pulses throbbed with awe. The low rumble of thunder on the far horizon had become terrific crashes directly overhead. Stroke after stroke of lightning blazed across the river and all the waters were now red.

There came a tremendous crash that stunned Ned’s ears and the lightning flamed all about him. Both he and Stump were so startled that they jumped in their seats, and the canoe rocked dangerously. But Stump recovered himself quickly, and, by rapid and skillful use of the paddle, steadied it again.

“Must have struck the Brazos itself,” said Stump. “It shorely hit close by ’cause I smell fire an’ brimstone. I reckon it smells that way at the gates of them infernal regions.”

Ned, too, either in fancy or in fact, smelled fire and brimstone, and his anxiety to reach solid land redoubled. Fortunately the horses had been too much frightened by the bolt to struggle, and swam after the canoe, as if they would keep their very noses against it, and in touch with its human occupants. Ned’s nerves steadied again. Stump suddenly turned the canoe down stream and held it almost straight, while three or four trees matted together and torn by the roots from the soft earth floated past. Had they struck the canoe it would have gone down in an instant.

When the trees were well out of the way, Stump turned the canoe once more toward the original point of destination. Now all his skill was drawn into play, as the wind had grown more violent and the waves ran high. Well it was for them that nature had exhausted herself on the mighty shoulders and arms and chest. The muscles on his arms bunched up in huge knots as he swung the great paddle. Despite the rain and cold, beads of sweat stood out on his face. The huge volume of water continually drove against the canoe, trying to send it down the stream, but his strength always served. The canoe never swerved from its course, keeping directly for the dark projection of trees into the water.

Ned could see the trees now. They grew upon a relatively high peninsula of land, and behind this peninsula there was sure to be a cove of comparatively still water, where the current could not pull at them.

“I can make out the trees,” he said to Stump. “They’re on a neck of land. Paddle in behind it, and we will be safe.”

“That’s our harbor,” replied the indomitable man, “an’ I’ll be mighty glad to get there. Restin’ time is at hand ag’in.”

The canoe now crossed the last reach of the main stream, and drew in slowly behind the peninsula, keeping on until its point touched soft mud. Then Ned and Stump stepped out upon a little patch of earth, ten or fifteen feet square, and the horses, wading up afterward, drew close to their human comrades. Stump leaned against the wet trunk of a tree, and wiped his great brow.

“I reckon that’s about the best paddlin’ I ever done,” he said. “How that lightnin’ flashes, Ned. I thought I was about gone, when that thunderbolt hit in the river beside us. I never expect to make such another crossin’ as long as I live.”

Ned looked back and he too was appalled.

“I don’t know how we ever did it,” he said, “but one thing is sure, we did do it.”

“We’ve got at least a half mile or maybe a mile of overflow to go through yet,” said Stump, “but before we start it we’ll have another rest, one longer than the first we took.”

“I’m willing,” said Ned.

While they waited there, he patted the heads of the horses and talked to them and soothed them. He also examined their weapons and ammunition, which they had wrapped in Stump’s blankets, and found that everything was dry and secure.

“Ned,” said Stump, “you an’ me ought to be pretty good comrades by the time we get to Houston. When two fellows share such dangers as we’ve left behind, an’ such as we have comin’ it makes ’em feel mighty near to each other.”

“It certainly does.” said Ned. “You must join our band. There’s the Panther, and Obed White and Deaf Smith and Henry Karnes and Will Allen and the Reverend Stephen Larkin and Potter and others that are ready to die at any time for Texas.”

“I know all them people that you’ve named, ’cept Allen an’ Larkin,” said Stump, “an’ they’re true blue, every one of them. We’re shore to j’in in one band, as soon as Potter brings ’em up. Now, I reckon, Ned, we’d better be startin’ ag’in.”

They resumed their places in the canoe, and picked a channel through flooded forest. Sometimes the horses swam, but oftener they waded. Stump, who had some knowledge of the ground when it was not flooded, chose their path. They were compelled frequently to turn around masses of bushes and vines, but after midnight they reached solid earth, beyond the reach of the risen river, and hid the canoe in the densest brush they could find.

“It’s done us a good turn that little canoe of mine,” said Stump, “an’ we’ll leave it here, where it may do us another some day.”

“Have you any idea where we are?” asked Ned.

“Just an idee, but it may be a close one. Houston’s camp when I left him was in the Brazos bottoms five or six miles down, but I take it that they have become flooded since, and he must have moved back toward higher ground. Anyway you an’ me, Ned, must make toward that place, as soon as we git rested. We’re clean fagged out now, an’ it’s likely, too, that the horses are all done up.”

They did not have the heart to mount their worn animals, but led them out on the prairie, until they came to one of the usual islands of timber. Here they forced their way into the close mesquite, tethered the horses, and, despite the rain, despite everything, slept.

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