11 The Miraculous Escape

Ned came back to consciousness, when somebody prodded him in the side with the butt of a lance. Two men in soiled Mexican uniforms were holding him up by the shoulders. Muddy water was running from his hair and his clothing in streams, large enough to make a little pool at his feet. It was dark about him, and he knew that he could not have been unconscious more than a few minutes. Behind him he heard the sharp crack of a rifle shot and then the sound of three or four more. A moment’s silence, and then came the deep thrilling note of the Texan yell. His cry had warned his comrades in time, and straightening himself he looked at those who held him.

The men who had him by either shoulder were undoubtedly Mexican regular troops. In front of him stood three more and it was one of these who had prodded him with the lance butt. Five horses held by another man were standing somewhat back of them in the bushes. Ned surmised at once that they belonged to Almonte’s cavalry.

“Who are you?” asked a Mexican who looked like a petty officer.

“A Texan,” replied Ned briefly.

“So I can see,” said the man, glancing at his height and fair hair. “It was your cry, I think, that warned the Texans in the woods of our coming.”

“I hope so and I have every reason to believe so.”

“A red knife was clutched tightly in your hand when we found you.”

Ned shuddered.

“I am afraid that it meant the end of one of your scouts, a Campeachy Indian,” he said. “He was the ugliest fellow I ever saw, and I had to strike.”

The Mexican smiled faintly.

“They are not beautiful, those Indians,” he said, “and I do not grieve much because he is gone, although he and his comrades have been useful as scouts and skirmishers.”

“Well,” said. Ned, noticing now that all his arms had been removed from his belt, “I am your prisoner; what do you intend to do with me?”

“Take you to our Captain. Bind his arms behind him, Xavier.”

Ned knew that it was not worth while to resist and Xavier quickly made his arms fast, although in a manner that was not painful.

“Now, march ahead as we point,” said the officer, “and I warn you that at the slightest attempt to escape we will shoot instantly.”

Ned shrugged his shoulders and answered with a coolness that was not wholly assumed:

“Don’t worry. I may get shot some time or other. I don’t know, but I don’t want to get the bullet in the back.”

He walked firmly in the direction indicated by the point of the lance, and the Mexicans rode close behind him. A minute or two took them out of the bushes into the open prairie, and here Ned’s heart leaped again he heard the deep Texan yell behind them, followed by a crackling rifle fire. He looked over his shoulder.

“It appears,” he said, “that my people are holding the wood in which they encamped. My friends appear to be making trouble for your friends.”

“You are not wanting in intelligence, Texan,” said the Mexican, who seemed to have a sense of appreciation. “As I judge, your camp was aroused in time and is making a good defense. The Campeachy Indian whom we sent across the creek to scout was too fond of shedding blood. He lingered to take your scalp, and, in so doing, destroyed himself and injured us. Those who want too much hurt not only themselves but others.”

Ned looked back again. This seemed to be a good-natured man, and he might be a friend at a time when he needed him most. The orders of Santa Anna were to shoot or hang all prisoners. He suddenly remembered it with a shudder.

“Keep straight ahead parallel with the stream,” said the officer. “Presently we shall turn back to the creek, and cross it. We are alone on this side, and we came here primarily to scout.”

They rode about a mile, and all the while Ned listened attentively for the sound of shots. He heard only two or three, but they were enough to tell him that his friends had not been rushed successfully. Hope returned.

They turned back to the creek at a point where it was wider and shallower than above.

“Can you swim?” said the officer to Ned.

“When it is necessary.”

“Unbind his arms, Xavier, and let him follow behind our horses as we cross. It will not make you any wetter than you are, señor, and when the water grows deep you can hold to the tail of one of the horses. It is a great help in swimming, as I know from personal tests that I have made.”

“Go on,” said Ned. “Your statement about the help that a horse’s tail gives to a swimmer is true. I appreciate the kindness of your offer.”

The officer regarded him curiously.

“You are a young man of spirit,” he said.

Ned returned the gaze with equal curiosity. He had noticed that the officer spoke almost pure Castilian Spanish and now that they were out of the bushes he saw that he was quite young. He was fairer than usual among Mexicans, the brow was high and the eyes were set wide apart.

“If I had a spare horse you should ride him,” said the officer, “or you should ride double if it were not too much for any of our horses.”

“Go ahead,” said Ned, smiling a little. “The tail will suffice. I’ve been living in mud and water the most of the time in the last two or three weeks.”

The officer without another word rode into the stream. Ned waded after him and the other horsemen came behind. The water rose to his knees, then to his waist, then to his shoulders. The horse in front of him began to swim and Ned, laying hold of his tail with one hand, kept himself afloat with the other.

“Is it all right with you, Texan?” asked the young Mexican, looking back.

“It is as easy as a ferry boat,” replied Ned with calculated carelessness. “If it were not for getting wet I should always choose this method of crossing deep water. It requires so little preparation.”

The officer laughed.

“Señor Texan,” he said, “I saw from the first that you were a young man of good spirit. It appears also that you have a high humor. I could wish that you were Mexican instead of Texan, and I can wish it now especially.”

He sighed, and Ned understood. He was referring to Santa Anna’s order to shoot or hang all Texans who presumed to resist the power of Mexico. The thought came to him a second time that the young officer might prove to be a friend whom he would need very badly indeed.

They passed the deeper part of the stream, and now the water was not above Ned’s, waist. He released the horse’s tail and waded to the shore, following the officer. The other Mexicans came behind. When they stood upon firm ground the young officer locked contemplatively at Ned.

“I would offer you dry clothing if I had it,” he said; “but since I do not have it, señor, you must go to our camp as you are. My name is Montez, Philip Montez, and what I can do for you I will.”

“Mine is Edward Fulton,” said Ned, not to be surpassed in politeness, “and since I have fallen into Mexican hands I am glad that those hands are yours.”

Montez gazed with renewed interest.

“Fulton! Fulton!” he said. “I have heard the name from both Colonel Almonte and Captain Urrea.”

“And it is Urrea who is in command of the vanguard which is now attacking our men?”

“It is he. Almonte has not come up yet, nor do I think he will arrive for two or three days. You are the prisoner of Captain Urrea.”

Ned noticed a trace of sadness in the officer’s tone, and he understood perfectly. It was one thing to be the captive of Almonte, and another to be the captive of Urrea.

“I will not bind your hands again,” said Montez. “I will spare you that indignity. My men will be on all sides of you, and we will proceed as quickly as possible to camp. Hark to the attack! Hear those shots! Your Texans are still holding out, but I do not think that Urrea will press home the attack to-night. It will be done to-morrow, and you will surely be overpowered.”

Montez did not speak in any spirit of boastfulness or to taunt his prisoner, but rather as if he were announcing a fact to himself and Ned, recognizing it as such, attempted no reply. The way led for some distance across the prairie, and Ned, at length, saw a light burning ahead. He knew that it was Urrea’s camp fire. When they came closer a figure walked forward and stood revealed against the blaze.

It was Urrea himself, in a fine uniform splashed with mud. It seemed to Ned that he had grown much older in the last month or two, and that the face was much more sinister. There was no trace of that open and seemingly frank smile which had marked him, when Ned first knew him. A dozen other Mexicans, some of the officers, were standing about the fires. More were in the background, but the main Mexican force was a quarter mile in front, keeping up a desultory fire on the Texans who lay in the wood.

Urrea did not recognize Ned at first. Ned himself did not know how near he came to being in disguise. His face was covered with muddy sediment and his hair hung in strings. But he held himself very erect and met Urrea’s look without fear.

“What have you here, Lieutenant Montez?” asked the leader.

“A prisoner, one of the Texans. Our Indian scout attempted to kill him from behind. There was a struggle and they fell in the creek. Only one reappeared and we have brought him to you. His name is Edward Fulton and he is a member of the Texan force in the cotton-wood grove.”

Urrea’s eyes lighted up with malicious joy. He took a step forward and laughed.

“Santiago, but it is so!” he said. “I recognize him now, although he comes to us in singular plight. Well, young Señor Fulton, we welcome you. You could have brought no more acceptable gift, Lieutenant Montez.”

Montez moved nervously. It was evident to Ned that he did not like Urrea’s tone.

“Suppose we let him dry himself,” he said. “As you see, the water is running from his clothes.”

“Take him to one of the fires,” said Urrea, “but bear in mind, Lieutenant Montez, that the orders of our illustrious president and commander-in-chief, General Santa Anna, are severe and must be obeyed.”

“I do not forget them,” said Montez, flushing a little, Then he walked with Ned to the nearest fire, and told him to stand there until he was warm and dry. Ned, paying no attention to the curious glances of the Mexicans, stood close to the blaze. He was growing chill from his wetting and the fire was very grateful. Montez with a friendly word left him there, but other Mexicans, arms in hand, stood about, and there would be no chance to make a break for liberty.

He assumed a careless manner. He devoted himself entirely to the drying of his clothing. When the steam arose from one side he turned the other, like a roasting apple, revolving before the blaze. Presently Urrea came. But Ned was completely dry now, and the dryness and warmth at such a time seemed to add an especial stiffness to his backbone. He took no notice of Urrea until the Mexican spoke.

“I deem it an omen of good luck that you have fallen again into our hands,” said Urrea. “You slipped away smoothly before, but the fact that fate has brought you back indicates that you were not to escape our hands permanently.”

“It’s hard to read the future,” said Ned placidly.

“But sometimes one may determine events twenty-four hours ahead. For instance, there are the orders of President Santa Anna that all Texan prisoners be hanged or shot. I believe that you saved yourself at the Alamo by some sort of claim made upon him in the name of the merchant, John Roylston. But that claim would be too tenuous now. Moreover, General Santa Anna will not overtake us for several days and orders are orders.”

“I understand,” said Ned, “that you are threatening me with a quick death.”

“Your life is absolutely in my hands,” said Urrea, “but I mean to use you. For that reason you can sleep here, and we will give you food in the morning.”

Ned’s feelings were far from pleasant, as Urrea turned away. He knew the cruel nature of the Mexican, and how intensely he hated the Texans. Yet it did not seem possible to him that the end had come at last after he had been saved miraculously more than once. Resolved to appear as indifferent as possible, he sat down before the fire and stared into the coals.

He was not molested for some time, and gradually his pulses returned to their normal beat. The fitful sounds of combat ceased. Evidently the last shot for the night had been fired and more Mexicans gathered about the fires. Ned could hear them talking and he judged that the force under Urrea numbered at least two hundred, or four to one against the Texans.

Montez came a half hour later and offered him a blanket. Ned accepted it and was grateful for the courtesy.

“The time may come when I shall be able to repay you, Señor Montez,” he said.

“It may,” said the lieutenant in a philosophical tone. “It would seem impossible now that such a time should come, but the wheel of fortune turns fast. I may have to hold you to your promise, Señor Fulton. Now sleep well. Adios.”

Ned did sleep. Exhaustion and a splendid constitution brought him slumber in spite of everything. He was awakened early in the morning by Montez, and the Mexicans gave him a good breakfast of corn cakes, bacon and coffee. From the point where he sat he could see the grove in which the Texans lay, but it was impossible to discern figures at the distance. About half way between, a patrol of fifty Mexican cavalry rode about the wood, taking care, however, to keep well out of rifle shot.

Ned’s eyes glistened as he looked. He saw that Urrea would not dare even with four to one to rush the formidable body of Texans who lay under cover among the trees. The Mexicans knew too well the deadly nature of the Texan rifles.

Urrea on horseback stood on a little knoll, watching the grove through a strong pair of glasses. As Ned and his guards came near he put down the glasses and said to the boy:

“I told you last night that I would have a use for you. I will tell you what it is. We have about fifty of the Texans surrounded in this grove, and we wish them to surrender. I say to you frankly that if we were to attack the grove we should probably suffer heavy loss. But it is not necessary for us to do so. We can surround the men, pick them off, or starve them out. It is also true that our illustrious general will be here presently with cannon, and we can rake every corner of the wood, while ourselves remaining out of rifle shot.”

“This being so, what need have you of me?” asked Ned.

“Tell the men, your comrades, to surrender, and I will secure terms for them from General Santa Anna. I will see also that your life is spared. I have great influence with our commander-in-chief. I can say it without boasting.”

Ned looked up at Urrea and gazed straight into his eyes. His soul was stirred with a fiery and honest indignation.

“I was at Goliad,” he said, “and our men surrendered on the promise of life and speedy liberty. What was the promise worth? It was worth as much there as it is here. You know it.”

Urrea flushed deeply and his hand flew to the hilt of his sword. But he quickly regained control of himself.

“They were rebels,” he said.

“If they were rebels, so are we,” said Ned.

“Then you refuse to bear this message and to tell the Texans the terms I offer.”

“I refuse to help in any way to set a trap for them.”

Urrea considered.

“You refuse to bear this message,” he said at length, “but nevertheless you shall be present at a conference that I intend to hold with them. If you do not go forward willingly you shall be dragged. Your presence, silent though it may be, will add weight to what I have to say.”

“I do not object to being an innocent spectator,” said Ned. “You will not have to drag me.”

“Hoist the signal, Montez,” said Urrea.

The young Lieutenant raised a handkerchief on the end of a lance, but no attention was paid to it. They waited some time, but nothing moved in the wood.

“I would advise you to ride forward out of the range of your own troops,” said Ned dryly. “The Texans in the wood also remember Goliad.”

Urrea flashed him an angry glance, but he adopted the suggestion. He had Ned’s hands bound behind him again and then he, Montez and two others rode slowly toward the wood, with the boy marching between the horses of the two officers.

As they advanced Ned saw three figures issue from the wood, and come forward to meet them. The Panther led, looking, on his horse, like a gigantic black knight, and just behind him came Stump and Obed White.

As they drew near the Panther called to him cheerily.

“Is that you, Ned, or is it your ghost? We heard your cry an’ it made us jump to our arms, but we was afeard you was dead.”

“It is I in the solid material flesh,” Ned called back, “but I am, as you see, a prisoner, and I am merely here as a witness.”

The two little groups met and the Panther frowned darkly at Urrea. It hurt him to see a friend of his walking a prisoner between triumphant Mexicans on horseback. He also hated Urrea, whom he regarded as a spy and a traitor.

“You are Urrea,” he said. “You would have betrayed us to death while pretending to be our friend. Well, what do you want?”

Urrea smiled superciliously. He seemed to be greatly satisfied with himself.

“I overlook your bluster,” he said, “because I know that it is idle. I have had this white flag raised in order that we may talk with the rebels and save needless bloodshed.”

“We don’t mind your callin’ us rebels,” said the Panther. “Words don’t hurt. But we are here, waitin’ for you to tell us what you’ve got to say.”

“We have come to demand your surrender. We have here a force outnumbering yours at least eight to one,” said Urrea, doubling his numbers. “General Santa Anna himself will be up soon with plenty of artillery. It will be easy for us to take you.”

“Then if it so easy to take us,” said the Panther, “why do you demand our surrender?”

“If you surrender without bloodshed I shall intercede with General Santa Anna for your lives which are forfeit as rebels.”

“We know Mexican mercy,” said the Panther. “Besides, even if we trusted you we wouldn’t dream of surrenderin’. Just you come an’ take us, Captain Urrea. Santa Anna may come up as you say, but we ain’t so shore that he won’t have his own hands full before long.”

“You can surrender or not, as you choose,” said Urrea, “but in the end all of you who are left alive will be taken and you will be executed duly as rebels. I wish to remind you also that I have here a prisoner, a youth of importance among you, and unless you yield it will be my duty to hang him between our lines where you can see it done.”

“You wouldn’t do that!” exclaimed the Panther, horrified.

“It would be the deed of one worse than a savage!” said Obed White.

“I shall certainly do it,” said Urrea. “This is war, as you Texans are finding to your cost. Fulton’s life is forfeit.”

Then Ned spoke up. Like the other Texans he had the glow and fire of a great resolution, the resolution to fight to the last.

“Pay no attention to him, Panther,” he said. “You cannot surrender a strong Texan force on my account. I’ve got to take my chances.”

“No, Ned, I won’t surrender,” said the Panther, “I can’t do it. I’ve got no right to do it, but it just t’ars me to pieces ’cause I can’t.”

Then he turned fiercely to Urrea.

“Urrea,” he said, “what you are proposin’ is the lowest down thing I ever heard of.”

“Your opinion is of no importance to me,” said Urrea.

“Panther,” said Ned earnestly. “Don’t you think of doing as he asks. They can never take your force. He has already lied about his numbers. He has only four to one. Not eight to one, and Texans do not mind four to one.”

Urrea swore furiously, and raised a little riding whip that he carried. The Panther lifted a huge finger warningly.

“Urrea,” he said, “you can’t strike a prisoner, one of our own people, here before us. We are under the white flag, but if you let that whip fall upon Ned I’ll blow your head off as shore as the sun is shinin’!”

Urrea paled, then looked savagely at the Panther. He saw immutable resolution in the eyes of the gigantic plainsman, and he lowered the whip.

“I do not strike prisoners,” he said lamely.

“An’ I’ve got this to say, too,” said the Panther. “You think that everything’s your way, an’ that the last of the Texans will be wiped out in a few days. Well, mebbe you’re wrong. I’m thinkin’ that you’re mighty wrong, an’ your time may come. You may fall into our hands an’ then what you’ve done to this boy we may do to you. He’s got strong friends, men that have been made hard by many dangers, an’ when they get their hands on you they won’t spare you.”

The Panther spoke with a fiery energy that was convincing. A deep pallor overspread the face of Urrea and, for a moment or two terror bit like an arrow at his heart. But he recovered himself and replied:

“I do not fear threats, particularly from those who are in no position to carry them out.”

“You won’t forget what I’ve told you,” said the Panther. “Ned is in your hands, but we’re watchin’ over him, even from a distance. Now, if you’ve said all you’ve got to say we’ll return, an’ you can begin your attack on the wood as soon as you like. Ned, we’ll get you back. Don’t forget that we’ll be thinkin’ of you most of the time.”

“I’ll be all right,” said Ned, with an assumption of cheerfulness. “I’m lucky. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” said the Panther, Obed and Stump together. Then they rode slowly back to their own lines. But Ned’s phrase, “I’m lucky,” stuck in the minds of all three. It merely strengthened anew their conviction that he was indeed born under a lucky star, and that he would come safe out of this new danger.

Ned himself walked back with the Mexicans, Urrea and Montez on either side of him and the others in the rear. Urrea was in a savage humor, and he nervously flicked his horse with his whip. Montez gave Ned a look of sympathy but said nothing. Urrea himself did not speak until he was nearly back to his own force.

“Montez,” he said, “we must take those Texans in the wood. It would be a great achievement for us and would immensely help our credit with the general. He is anxious to return to the capital as soon as possible, and this capture and a few more like it would end the Texans.”

“It is so, my captain,” said Montez. “Now what shall we do with this prisoner?”

“Let his arms remain bound and put him in the middle of the troop. He cannot get away.”

Ned sat down on a little hill, where some of the Mexican horsemen were grouped about him. As the air was somewhat chill they had dismounted and built a fire, before which they stood holding their horses by the bridle and waiting orders. Ned turned his back to the fire and stood waiting also, but not knowing what he awaited. His intense excitement kept him from noticing the raw chill of the day.

Ned had divined the savage and implacable nature of Urrea. He knew that the Mexican, while he might be daunted for a moment by the Panther’s threats would be inflamed by them later on. He felt that he was in great danger, and he could only hope and pray that somehow he would come through safely.

Urrea’s cavalry, except the reserve, spread out and opened a distant fire upon the grove. It was not returned for a long time. Then two rifles flashed from the forest and two cavalrymen fell from their saddles. Ned laughed. It was not a laugh of amusement, but a laugh of the nerves and of triumph. He was keyed to an intense pitch, and, at every touch, his nerves responded like the strings of a violin. Yet he did not notice that it had grown much colder, and that heavy clouds were massing in the west. The sun of which the Panther had spoken but a half hour before was almost gone.

The Mexican attack drew off, and Ned saw Urrea sitting on his horse a short distance away, apparently deep in thought. Presently he called Montez and the two rode toward Ned.

“The Texans are stubborn,” said Urrea, more to Montez than to Ned, “and we must teach them a lesson. We must put the fear of Santa Anna’s wrath into their souls. We must show that there can be no mercy for rebels.”

“I would not do it, my captain,” said Montez. “It will only make these Texans more fierce and resolute in resistance, and it will go hard with us should any of us be so unfortunate as to fall into their hands.”

“Enough, Montez,” said Urrea brusquely. “We do not fear the Texans. I am in command here and what I see fit to order shall be done.”

Montez was silent, but his manner was still disapproving. The two halted before Ned, and Urrea beckoned to several soldiers.

“Get a lariat,” he said to one.

Ned heard him, and a shudder ran through his whole body. But he said nothing.

“Bring the prisoner,” said Urrea to the men, “and follow me to the oak that stands in full view before the Texan grove.”

“Captain, I entreat you,” began Montez.

“Silence!” shouted Urrea.

Ned himself marked the oak, a stout tree with stout branches, standing between the two lines, but out of Texan rifle shot. He understood Urrea’s meaning well enough, and again that shiver passed through his body from head to foot. But he summoned all the resources of his will and walked with unfaltering step.

Now in very truth it appeared that his time had come. He could see no possible way of salvation. If the Texans issued from the wood to save him they would be cut down by overwhelming numbers. The elements themselves were in accordance with the event, and were drawing a funeral pall over his final moments. It had turned very cold. The last segment of the sun was gone, and the clouds, massing in heavy battalions, suffused all the air with a deep, somber tint. A vast wind was moaning far away on the rolling plains.

They reached the tree, the Mexican with the lariat climbed it quickly and fastened one end of the rope to a bough. A shout came from the grove, and many rifles cracked, but all the bullets fell short. Ned saw horsemen at the edge of the wood, apparently about to gallop forth on a desperate forlorn hope. But he took no hope from such an attempt. It could not possibly succeed.

“Make the rope fast around his neck,” said Urrea to another of the Mexicans who was more than willing.

The man carefully made a loop and approached. Ned shrank away, and, as he did so, glanced at Urrea to see if he were really going to carry out such a horrible plan. But he was unable to read anything in the face of the Mexican, because the air suddenly had grown so dark that he could not discern his features. The vast wind that had been moaning afar was coming nearer, and leaves and twigs, picked up on its edge, began to whirl past.

The man with the noose took another step forward, and Ned shrank back again. Then the Norther struck in all its blackness and fury. There was a rush of dust picked up on far western plains. A vast cloud black as Egypt swept over them, while the wind moaned in their ears. The air itself was like the touch of ice.

Ned was dazed for a moment by the suddenness of the transformation. Then he felt an edge of steel cold against his wrist and his thongs, cut in two, fell to the ground.

“Run! run for your life!” exclaimed the voice of Montez in his ear. “This will pass in a few minutes, and I cannot see you die such a death!”

The words were like the charge of an electric battery. Uttering a fervent “Thank you!” Ned sprang away. He had been conscious for a moment of trampling hoofs about him, and of the shouts of the Mexicans, but he could see nothing, so great was the darkness, and so dense was the cloud of dust that had filled the eyes of them all. But he was conscious of an immense and devout joy. Nature herself had interfered at the last moment to save him.

He ran blindly at first and then chose a course which he thought would lead to the wood. The darkness was as deep as ever, and hail had begun to fall, pelting him on the back and head, and driving him to a greater speed. The roaring of the wind was so great that he could hear nothing else, and he did not know what had become of the Mexicans. Twice he stumbled over roots and bushes and fell, but each time he sprang up again and ran on as fast as ever.

He had been running at least twenty minutes before he recollected himself and stopped. If he had been going straight toward it he could have reached the cottonwood grove in half that time. It was obvious that in the darkness and confusion he had taken the wrong course. But he was out of the hands of the Mexicans. That at least was achieved. He decided to keep on, though at a somewhat slower pace, until he found the cover of forest, and bushes, in which he would lie, until there was light enough for him to return to his comrades.

But he went much further than he had thought would be necessary. He tripped again and fell, and once he went for thirty or forty yards through water that sometimes reached to his knees. He judged that it was a lagoon formed by the overflow from the creek, and that consequently he must be very near the timber. He veered in a little in the hope of reaching it at once, but he encountered neither bushes nor trees until a full half hour later.

Then he ran into a clump of bushes, and, as he pushed his way through them, he felt trees. Presently both forest and underbrush grew very dense, and he crouched down in the thickest portion that he could find. He was partly protected there from the wind and hail which were still driving hard. As he sat between the great roots of an oak, with a thick clump of bushes guarding him like a palisade, he felt a deep and intense thankfulness. Truly a miracle had intervened in his behalf, when there were only thirty seconds between him and death. He could never despair again.

He remained a long time between the roots of the tree. The darkness did not pass as quickly as he had expected, and the wind, charged at intervals with hail, blew with great strength for three or four hours. But he was still insensible to cold and wet. His nervous system, taxed to the utmost by mental tension, was unconscious of physical hardships.

When he felt the darkness thinning away, and the wind dying he rose and peered over the bushes. He could see but dimly, but he knew that no great light would come, as another dusk, that of twilight, was creeping up. He was glad the night was at hand, as it would afford a good cloak of concealment, and he felt confident now that he could rejoin the Texan band.

He waited a while longer, and the hail ceased entirely. The wind sank to a murmur and the artificial darkness was succeeded by that of night. Then he stepped forth from his covert, and tried to locate himself. He saw nothing familiar, merely the wet forest and bushes, and beyond them a sodden morass.

He was sure that he was somewhere near the Texan grove, but whether above or below it he could not tell. When the Norther struck there was so much confusion of the elements and of his senses that he could not remember in which direction he had run.

The clouds were now passing rapidly away, leaving a fine blue sky sown with stars. The air grew warm again, and had the remarkable purity and clearness that always follows a Norther.

He went deeper into the woods and found the creek, but there was nothing familiar about its banks. Yet he could not be more than two or three miles from the Texans. But up or down! Up or down! That was the question. It would not have been so serious a problem had he been armed. But he was without rifle, knife, hatchet or pistol. He had nothing with which to defend himself except his bare hands.

It was likely that Urrea had sent out men to find him, as soon as it was light enough. Doubtless he had with him more of the Campeachy Indians and he would have their skill as trailers and their savage lust of blood to fear. He resolved therefore to cross the creek and hunt from the other side for his friends. So broad a body of water would serve to hide his trail from the keenest eyes, for a while at least.

Ned dropped softly into the water. The stream at this point had spread out to much width, but yet was deep enough to require swimming. He waded as far as he could, and then swam a distance of twenty or thirty feet, when he struck the shallow water, approaching the further shore. He let down his feet and stood on the bottom, the water reaching to his chin. Then he looked back toward the bank from which he had come, and a chill ran through him.

Ned had feared the trailing of the Campeachy Indians, and with justice. One of the savages stood now on the bank looking eagerly for the fugitive. He was much like the other whom Ned had encountered in the water, a short heavily built man, yellowish in color, his hair black and long and his clothing limited now to a waist cloth. He carried only a long knife, and, in a darting ray of the moonlight, its edge looked so keen that Ned shuddered. The Indian doubtless knew that he was unarmed, and considered the knife sufficient.

Ned, without a single weapon, felt helpless. He sank a little lower in the water, immersing himself to the nose, through which he breathed. The spreading bough of a large oak cast a darker shadow upon the stream where he stood, and he hoped that the Indian would not see the blur upon the yellow water which was the boy’s head.

The savage looked a long time up and down the stream, and then hunted a little along the bank. But he came back to the point from which he had been observing the creek. Evidently he had found some trace of Ned’s trail, and was now convinced that he had gone into the water. The boy sank a fraction of an inch lower, and the water almost bubbled into his nose. He hoped that he might yet escape discovery, but the Indian suddenly uttered a low cry, and sprang into the stream.

Ned instantly rushed for the land. But it was slow progress running through deep water. He looked Back and saw the Indian swimming swiftly and almost silently, his knife held between his teeth. He was a brave youth, but an unarmed fugitive cannot delay when the pursuer is a bloodthirsty savage. Ned felt his whole body quivering as if the Indian were already upon him. He fairly leaped through the water, and with a mighty effort gained the bank. There his feet sank deep in the mud, but he pulled them out again, and dashed into the bushes.

He cast one fleeting glance and saw the Indian also reach the shore and stand there for a moment, outlined in the moonlight, the water running from his yellow body. Then Ned used his utmost speed because he knew the Indian would hang upon his trail like death itself. He doubled and turned in the brush, always running lightly, and, pausing now and then, to crouch in the shelter and listen. He did not hear anything, but he knew as certainly as he knew he was alive that the Indian was following him.

He came finally to a point where the bush was very dense, and crawling into the center of it he lay there, panting. He looked at his empty hand and he was overcome by a sort of horror. He would have given a year of his life for a weapon of any kind. Then he could have turned and faced this terrible, trailing savage. It was a beautiful moonlight now, with all the crispness and freshness that follows the norther, but he hated the silky blue sky and the myriad of dancing stars. Before, there had been little but rain and mud and storm, and he had prayed more than once to be delivered from them. Now he could pray with equal fervor to have them back again.

Suddenly he sank down lower in the brushwood. His acute ear, attuned for any foreign sound, heard a soft step, as light almost as that of a fox. The Indian stepped gently into the undergrowth and stood looking about, and Ned, his imagination alive, had never seen a more utter savage. The Indian’s gaze was roving around and suddenly he caught a glimpse of Ned. The boy, who was watching him intently, saw the cruel light spring up in the eyes of the savage, and, making a mighty leap from the undergrowth, he ran as he had seldom run before in his life.

His impetus was so great that he left the savage staring for a few moments at the place where he had been. Then he doubled and turned again, and once more he lost his pursuer in the shadows. But Ned knew that he would hang on. The single glimpse would encourage the savage to hunt him all night, if need be. He stopped again panting and wished with the very essence of his soul that he had a weapon.

Looking among the trees and bushes, he saw the savage again following his crooked trail in the moonlight. But the Indian had not seen him this time, and he slid softly away in the other direction. Now he was among large trees, and the ground was littered with old and fallen boughs. His foot struck against a stick and he picked it up. It was two or three inches in diameter and four or five feet long, a natural club.

When Ned felt the club in his hand, his whole figure stiffened, and courage poured back into his veins. He was not defenseless now. He was one with a weapon, and the hunted would become the hunter. He stepped behind a large tree and crouched there, lately a fugitive for his life, but now a formidable figure.

The Indian came on, carefully trailing the footsteps in the soft earth, and, when he was opposite the tree, Ned sprang forth. The savage uttered no cry, but as quick as the spring of a tiger thrust with the long knife. It was well for Ned that he too was quick and that he was keyed for the crisis. He brought the club down with a snapping stroke on the Indian’s right arm and the knife fell to the ground. Then he struck again straight at the savage head, and the Indian went down without a cry. Ned did not know whether he was dead or not. He never knew, but snatching up the knife he dashed away again through the brush, free now from the fear of that relentless and deadly pursuit.

He must have gone a half mile, when he felt a sudden attack of faintness. The earth rocked and everything grew black before his eyes. He lay flat upon the ground, until his nervous system relaxed, and the earth grew steady again. Then he resumed his feet and found that the swimming in his head was gone.

Ned returned to the edge of the creek, and, noticing that it was wider here than at the Texan camp, he concluded that he was much farther down the stream, and nearer to the bayou into which it emptied, where it would naturally spread out. Hence the camp would be back up the creek, and, acting upon his logic, he went in that direction.

Now the moonlight helped him. Keeping in the timber he always scanned the opposite shore with the greatest care, and, after nearly two hours’ walking, he saw trees that he believed he knew. They must be the cottonwood grove, but he watched some time before he saw a light, a faint one apparently in the very depths of the wood.

Ned sat down on the bank and gave forth a long, melodious whistle. He waited a while and there was no reply. Then he repeated it, and, after another wait, a similar whistle came from the grove. Then he stood up boldly and called aloud:

“It is I, Ned Fulton!”

He saw a gigantic figure upraised in the dusk, and back came the cry:

“Where are you? Who did you say you are?”

“I am Ned Fulton, and I’ll be with you in a minute, Panther.”

Then Ned sprang far out into the stream and swam to the bank.

►   ▲