The Lost Gold of the Montezumas: A Story of the Alamo

  CHAPTER VI.

  THE OLD CASH-BOX.

  The morning sun of the next day was well up in the sky before it couldmanage to look in over the bushes and find out what was going on aroundthe pond and the ruins. Long before that, however, a bright young faceof a dusky-red tint came to the side of a sumach-bush and peered out alittle anxiously. Nothing living was to be seen excepting a mule atthe end of a lariat and pin. As if satisfied by what he saw, the youngredskin disappeared, but he shortly came out again, leading a pony.Another pin was driven to hold the pony's lariat, but the two animalswere not picketed near each other. They belonged to different tribesand they might be at war.

  Then once more Red Wolf glanced swiftly in all directions. He saw alarge rabbit sitting still and looking at the mule, but he did not seeany Tetzcatl.

  "Heap water," he remarked, and he at once went to the margin of thepond. He took a long draught. It was pure, but he could not say thatit was very cold. "Ugh!" he exclaimed, as he threw aside his weaponsand took off his buckskins.

  In he waded, but the pond grew deeper a few yards out, and he dashedahead in a manner that proved him a tip-top swimmer. Such a morningbath was a rare luxury, but, as soon as he had paddled around longenough, he swam ashore and sat down to dry. Perhaps it was also for athinking spell, and he had quite a number of things to think of. Oneamong them came to the front pretty soon, and he put on his smallallowance of clothing. Then he picked up his lance, his bow, and hisarrows and walked toward the _adobe_. He found it as empty as heexpected, and he at once stirred up the fire. There was plenty ofvenison, and he knew nothing at all about bread, coffee, and the othersuperfluous accompaniments of a white man's breakfast.

  What, indeed, could be better for an already celebrated Lipan warrior,intending to be a chief some day, than a whole pond of water, verynearly a whole deer, and a good fire to cook by?

  He was satisfied thus far, but there was one trait of his characterwhich had been showing itself ceaselessly. Red Wolf was a borninvestigator. It was something more than mere curiosity. It workedwell, too, with all his training as a hunter and as a warrior, for itled him to try and find out the meaning, if it had any, of every thingand circumstance he might happen to meet. His eyes were hardly everquiet, and they were a very keen, penetrating pair of eyes.

  He broiled and ate his last cutlet, went to the pond for a draught, andthen he set himself to a close study of the ruins. He went from one toanother of them rapidly at first, until he was able to say of them,counting upon his fingers,--

  "Heap old fort. Many lodges. No big gun. Heap fight one day."

  What he meant by that was that in several places he had discoveredskulls and bones, which told of men who had fallen there with none tocare for their burial. Some of these were inside of the walls of thehouses. Others were scattered in the open. All were dry, white,decayed, ready to crumble entirely.

  The first inspection had been of a hasty kind, as if for fear ofinterruption. When it was over, Red Wolf stood still for a moment, andstared at the openings in the chaparral. Somebody, an old man withwhite hair, for instance, ought to be coming out at one of them atabout this time. Why did he not come?

  "Great Bear in bushes," he remarked. "Heap Comanche. Big Knife come.Texan. Red Wolf want Tetzcatl."

  He could not have him right away, that was plain, however much he mightwant him. So he turned to the ruins for another search, and this timehe went more slowly, and scrutinized with greater care every squarefoot of each in turn.

  Nothing could have been left in any of them, of course, but he was onthe lookout for "sign." There seemed to be none for him to read, untilat last, in one of the most completely broken quadrangles of old walls,he stood still and uttered a loud "Ugh!" of astonishment.

  "Hole in wall," he said. "Heap dollar."

  A considerable mass of _adobe_ had been shattered in falling. Justunder its former base there had been a kind of brickwork box. It hadbeen built over so as to conceal it completely, but it had never beenprovided with either door or lid. In it had been placed a number ofdeerskin bags. One of these had split in falling, and there on theground lay a number of silver coins. They were Spanish-Mexicandollars, halves, quarters, all more or less blackened by corrosion,exposed as they were to rain and sun, but all as good as ever.

  Red Wolf had seen silver money, and any coin was to him a "dollar," butit was a matter concerning which he knew very little. It wasaltogether "white man's medicine," and of a very powerful kind. Heknew that, at least, and his next thought was uttered aloud.

  "Tetzcatl not see dollars. No find. Red Wolf talk to Big Knife.Great chief know. Heap take."

  Very strong was his convictions that if Tetzcatl had at any timediscovered that stuff, he would have hidden it again or carried itaway. He did not regard the Tlascalan as his friend by any means, nordid he consider him as any kind of white man. Colonel Bowie was hischief just at this time, and he would know what to do with dollars.Therefore there could be no hesitation as to the right course to bepursued. Somehow or other this affair was to be reported to the Texanhero and to him only.

  All that Red Wolf said or did, nevertheless, brought clearly out awell-known trait of savage character. That is, he had no clear idea of"value," and so he was not ready for "money." All of his thorougheducation as a brave of the Lipans had not taught him to count. Hewould have been as poor a hand at a bargain as if he had been a wholecouncil of great chiefs selling half a new State to the agents of theUnited States.

  His most exciting idea concerning his discovery was that he had foundsomething which he believed would be of especial interest to Big Knife.

  He gathered the scattered coins and put them into the hole. He liftedthe uppermost bags to find out how heavy they were, but he did not openany of them. He put down the last bag that he lifted with a low-tonedexclamation of "heap medicine," as if it awed him.

  Only a few minutes of work were then required to cover the opening withfragments of _adobe_. After that the young treasure-finder, who didnot know what he had found, turned and walked away toward the pond.

  He must have been thinking of other matters while he walked, for heturned quickly and went to his mustang. Up came the lariat-pin, andonce more the sorrel, after being watered was led into the greatersecurity of the chaparral.

  "No Tetzcatl come," he remarked, as he went. "Too many Comanche."

  He had been a reckless, foolhardy young fellow, and he said so, inremaining so long out of cover, when he knew what enemies were huntingfor him. He tethered the pony and found for himself a thicket fromwhich he had a good view of the pond and its surroundings. No smokewas now arising from the _adobe_.

  Patiently, silently, he lay and waited and an hour passed slowly by.Then he suddenly crouched lower and fitted an arrow to his bow-string.

  "Ugh!" he said. "Horse foot come!"

  More than one set of hoofs was falling upon the soft sand of a pathwaynear him, but only a faint sound was made after their gait changed froma "lope" or canter to a slow walk. At the moment when this was donefour pairs of eyes were swiftly scanning the open. Low-voicedexclamations indicated that they had discovered something altogethernew to them, and then they rode out from the chaparral to examine itmore thoroughly.

  "No Lipan," he heard them say. "No pony. Castro gone."

  They had been led there by the trail of Red Wolf's mustang and themule. They now proceeded to search for any other tell-tale footprints,and Red Wolf followed them with his eyes. They were not likely todiscover even the fireplace, unless they should dismount. He thoughtof the dollars, but he believed them to be altogether safe. His mosttroublesome thought was his pony, for if that unwise animal should seefit to send out a neigh of inquiry to either of the Comanche poniesconcealment would be no longer possible.

  "Red Wolf lose hair," he said. "Strike Comanche brave! Kill a heap!Too many."

  He was determined to die fighting, but his enemies were now riding outbeyon
d the ruins, not in his direction. He was only too sure that theywould come back again. It was a question of life or death that wouldbe settled speedily, one way or the other.

  Crack! It was the loud report of a rifle ringing out of the southerlyborder of the chaparral, and the taller of the four Comanches pitchedheavily to the ground.

  Loud yells of rage and astonishment were uttered by the three remainingbraves, but they did not wait for a second shot. They wheeled theirmustangs and galloped wildly away through the nearest opening in theshrubbery.

  "Heap dead," said Red Wolf. "Ugh! Texan!"

  He lay as still as before, however, during several minutes, and nowhite rifleman made his appearance. The slain Comanche lay on thegrass where he had fallen, and his riderless pony fed quietly near him.It was only one, after all, of the numberless, unexplained tragedies ofthe border, and Red Wolf was too wise a young Indian to go out and huntaround for its meaning. He untethered his pony, however, and madeready for a run, if that should prove to be the next demand made uponhim.

  "Ugh!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Tetzcatl. No Comanche."

  Out from the chaparral beyond the pond walked the somewhat mysteriousTlascalan, but Red Wolf sent toward him a kind of warning cry, as likethe croak of a crow as if a very skilful crow had made it.

  Tetzcatl himself might be such another crow from the response that cameback. In a few minutes more he and Red Wolf were behind the samethicket, exchanging reports of their situation.

  The old man seemed to care very little about the hidden rifleman or thedead warrior. Red Wolf told all other things, but he did not mentionthe dollars. He did, however, take note of every square inch of thewhite-haired tiger he was talking to, and he came very near uttering anexclamation when his keen eyes detected a stain of powder in the middleof Tetzcatl's left hand. The thought which at once arose in his mindwas, "Load rifle. Powder stick on hand. Hide in the bushes. ShootComanche. Leave gun there. Ride around pond. Heap fool, Red Wolf.Boy! Ugh!"

  It was what lawyers call circumstantial evidence, but there was nodirect proof that the Comanche had not fallen by the hand of a Texanranger.

  "Follow Tetzcatl," said the old man. "See Big Knife."

  Not another word did he utter, but he and Red Wolf rode on togetherduring about twenty minutes side by side.

  If the young Lipan expected to meet any of the rangers or their leaderat the place named the previous day, he was mistaken. Bowie had indeedkept his appointment, much earlier than he had suggested, and there hadbeen important consequences.

  Part of what had happened began to be understood by Red Wolf when heand Tetzcatl came to so sharp a halt as they did.

  Only a few yards ahead of them six riflemen sat motionlessly in theirsaddles with their rifles raised as if about to fire. The foremost ofthem was apparently taking aim.

  The fire flashed from pan and muzzle, and the report was followed by ashrill screech from behind some bushes not sixty yards away. A horsedashed out and off, followed by another, whose rider also fell to theground as a second and third rifle cracked together.

  "Load, boys! Quick!" shouted Bowie. "They haven't surrounded us, butthat's what they're up to. There's another!"

  The third Comanche was galloping too fast to be made a good mark of,but three bullets followed him and his pony dropped. Then it was notone of the Texans but Tetzcatl on his mule who now spurred forward. Hehad not gone to help anybody, for his _machete_ was in his hand.

  "Red Wolf, halt!" commanded Bowie. "Tell! Talk fast!"

  It was not easy to obey an order that kept him from striking an enemy,but Bowie was his chief just then, and the story of the pond, the_adobe_, the four Comanches, and all other points worth telling, wererapidly told.

  "Good!" said Bowie. "Tetzcatl's coming. That fellow can't give GreatBear any information. Now for the pond. What we want next is water."

  The entire party wheeled away behind Tetzcatl as guide, and Red Wolffell back among the men. He did not yet feel free to question so greata man as Big Knife, but he learned from the rangers as they rode onthat their whole party had narrowly escaped a collision with "too manyComanches" at the spot where they had met the Tlascalan. "We'd ha'been wiped out sure," they said.

  After that they had dodged and lurked in the chaparral, while he wentfor a scouting trip to the pond. It now seemed fairly safe to gothere, but there was no certainty as to what had become of the mainbody of the Comanches. Of course, after having broken his agreement togo home, Great Bear felt it to be his military duty to destroy a squadof Texans who might otherwise report him and bring a stronger force topunish his misdoings.

  If the pond had hitherto been one of the secrets of the chaparral, itwas one no longer now. Loud, however, were the exclamations ofsurprise uttered by the Texans when they rode out into the open.

  "There's no telling what 'll be found if ever the chaparral iscleared," said Bowie. "We don't know much anyhow. Texas must be freefirst, and settlers must come in."

  "Colonel," said a ranger, "jest so; but no settler's goin' to clarchaparral as long as thar's loads o' clean prairie to feed stock on.This 'ere brush 'll stay whar it is."

  "Never mind now," replied Bowie. "Water the critters and picket themwhere they can bite grass, beyond the walls, or as near as you can. Wecould hold that middle _adobe_ for a while, but we're in a pretty tightkind of box."