Joseph Altsheler - The Quest of the Four - A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista

Phil pulled down his cap-brim and also sheltered hiseyes as much as he could with his left arm.

"It's the Norther," cried Breakstone. "Listen to it!"

The wind was now shrieking and howling over theplains with a voice that was truly human, only it was likethe shout of ten thousand human beings combined. Butit was a voice full of malice and cruelty, and Phil wasglad of the companionship of his kind.

The cold was now becoming intense, and he rapidlydrew the blanket about his body. Then he suddenly benthis head lower and completely covered his eyes with hisarm. It was hailing fiercely. Showers of white pellets, large enough to be dangerous, pounded him, and, as thedarkness had now increased to that of night, he gropedfor shelter. Bill Breakstone seized him by the arm andcried:

"Jump into the wagon there, Phil! And I'll jumpafter you!"

Phil obeyed with the quickness of necessity, andBreakstone came in on top of him. Middleton andArenberg were already there.

"Welcome to our wagon," said Arenberg, as Phil andBreakstone disentangled themselves. "You landed onone of my feet, Phil, and you landed on the other, Bill, but no harm iss done where none iss meant."

Phil cowered down and drew his blanket more closelyaround him, while the hail beat fiercely on the archedcanvas cover, and the cold wind shrieked and moanedmore wildly than ever. He peeped out at the front of thewagon and beheld a scene indescribable in its wild andchilling grandeur. The darkness endured. The hail wasdriven in an almost horizontal line like a sheet of sleet.The wagons showed but dimly in all this dusk. Theanimals, fortunately, had been tethered close to thewagons, where they were, in a measure, protected, butmany of them reared and neighed in terror and suffering.One look satisfied Phil, and he drew back well under cover.

"How often does this sort of thing happen in Texas?"he asked Arenberg.

"Not so often," replied the German, "and thisNorther, I think, is the worst I ever saw. The cold windcertainly blows like der Teufel. These storms must starton the great mountains far, far to the north, and I thinkthey get stronger as they come. Iss it not so, HerrBreakstone?"

"Your words sound true to me, Sir Hans of the BeerBarrel," replied Breakstone. "I've seen a few Northersin my time, and I've felt 'em, but this seems to me to beabout the most grown-up, all-around, healthy and friskyspecimen of the kind that I ever met."

Phil thought that the Norther would blow itself out inan hour or two, but he was mistaken. Several hourspassed and the wind was as strong and as cold as ever.The four ate some cold food that was in the wagon, andthen settled back into their places. No attempt would bemade to cook that day. But Phil grew so warm and snugin his blanket among the baggage, and the beating ofthe rain on the stout canvas cover was so soothing, thathe fell asleep after awhile. He did not know how longhe slept, because when he awoke it was still dark, thewind was still shrieking, and the other three, as he couldtell by their regular breathing, were asleep, also. He feltso good that he stretched himself a little, turned on theother side, and went to sleep again.

The Norther did not blow itself out until noon of thenext day. Then it ceased almost as abruptly as ithad begun. The wind stopped its shrieking andhowling so suddenly that the silence, after so long aperiod of noise, was for awhile impressive. The cloudsfell apart as if cut down the middle by a saber, and thesun poured through the rift.

It was like a fairy transformation scene. The riftwidened so fast that soon all the clouds were gone beyondthe horizon. The sky was a solid blue, shot through withthe gold of the warm sun. The hail melted, and theground dried. It was spring again, and the world wasbeautiful. Phil saw, felt, and admired. Bill Breakstoneburst into song:

"From the looks of things now," he continued, "youwouldn't think it had been whistling and groaningaround us for about twenty-four hours, trying to shoot usto death with showers of hail, but I'd have you to know,Sir Philip of the Untimely Cold and the Hateful Storm, that I have recorded it upon the tablets of my memory.I wouldn't like to meet such a Norther when I was aloneon the plains, on foot, and clad in sandals, a linen suit, and a straw hat."

"Nor I," said Phil with emphasis.

Now they lighted fires of buffalo chips which wereabundant everywhere, and ate the first warm food thatthey had had since the day before at noon. Then theyadvanced four or five miles and encamped on the banksof a creek, a small stream of water flowing in a broad, sandy bed. Phil and some of the others scouted in awide circle for Comanches, but saw no signs, and, as hehad slept so late that day, the boy remained awake mostof the night. There was a good moonlight, and he sawdusky slinking forms on the plain.

"Coyotes," said Bill Breakstone. "At least, most ofthem are, though I think from their size that two or threeof those figures out there must be timber wolves. If I'mright about 'em, it means that we're not far from a beltof forest country."

"I hope you're right," said Phil. "I'm gettingtired of plains now, and I'd like to see trees and hillsagain, and also water that runs faster and that's lessmuddy than these sluggish and sandy creeks."

Bill Breakstone threw back his head and laughed withunction.

"That's the way with fellows who were born in thehills," he said. "Wherever you go, sooner or later you'llpine for 'em again. I'm one of that lot, too."

"Yes, it's so," admitted Phil. "I like the greatplains, the vastness, the mystery, and the wonderful airwhich must be the purest in the world, that's alwaysblowing over them, but for a real snug, homey feelinggive me a little valley in the hills, with a brook ofgreen-white water about six inches deep running down it, andplenty of fine trees-oak, beech, hickory, elm, walnut, and chestnut-growing on the slopes and tops of the hills."

"A pretty picture, Sir Philip of the Brook, the Hill, the Valley, and the Tree," said Bill Breakstone, "andmaybe we will see it soon. As I told you, timber wolvesindicate trees not far off."

But the chief event that day was buffaloes and nottimber. They ran into a vast herd, traveling north withthe spring, and killed with ease all they wanted. Thebodies were cut up, and the wagons were filled with freshmeat. There was a momentary quandary about thehides, which they wished to save, a process that requiredimmediate curing, but they were unwilling to stop forthat purpose on the plain. Two of the scouts came in atsundown with news that the timber was only three or fourmiles ahead, and the whole train pushed forward, reachingit shortly after nightfall.

The wagons stopped just within the edge of the timber, but Phil, Breakstone, Arenberg, and Middleton rodeon, the night being so clear and bright that they couldsee almost as well as by day. The first range of hills waslow, but beyond lay others, rising perhaps two hundredfeet above the level of the plain. The timber on all thehills and the valleys between was dense and heavy, embracing many varieties of hard wood, elm, hackberry, overcup, ash, pecan, and wild china. There were alsothe bushes and vines of the blackberry, gooseberry, raspberry, currant, and of a small fox grape, plentifulthroughout the mountains of Texas. The fox grape grew on alittle bush like that of the currant, and growing inabundance was another bush, from two to six feet in height, that would produce wild plums in the autumn.

"It's a good country, a fine country," said BillBreakstone. "A man could live all the year around on thefood that he would find in this region, buffalo andantelope on the plains, deer and maybe beaver in here, and allsorts of wild fruits."