when I see them."
"We do!" said Phil and Arenberg together and emphatically.
The three shook hands, and that single act bound them into a solemn compact to stand by one another through all things. They did not waste words. Then the three went into the town, walking about among the inns and on the levee to hear the gossip of New Orleans, and to learn what chance there was of a large party going into the West. On the way Middleton told them of some things that he had learned. He was not sure, but a large wagon train might start soon for Santa Fé, in the far Mexican land of New Mexico. It was to be a trading expedition, carrying much cloth, metal goods, and other articles of value to this, the greatest of Mexico's outlying posts.
"It will be a numerous train," said Middleton, "perhaps too numerous, as it may arouse the suspicion of the Mexicans. The relations of the States and Mexico are none too good. There is trouble over Texas, and who can tell what will happen a thousand miles in the depths of the wilderness?"
"Nobody," said Arenberg. "Who should know better than I?"
He spoke with such sudden emphasis that Middleton opened his mouth as if he would ask a question, but changed his mind and was silent.
"Then it is your opinion, Mr. Middleton," said Phil, "that we should join this train?"
"If nothing better offers. All such expeditions are loosely organized. If we should wish to leave it we can do so."
"It iss well to keep it in mind," said Arenberg. "No harm can be done where none iss meant."
They entered a large inn kept by a Frenchman. Many men were sitting about drinking or smoking. Middleton ordered lemonade for the three, and they sat at a small table in the corner, observing the life of the place. Phil's attention was presently attracted to another small table near them, at which a single man sat. His gaze would not have lingered there, had it not been for this man's peculiar appearance. His age might have been thirty-five, more or less, and his figure was powerful. His face was burned almost black by a sun that could not have been anything but ardent, but his features and his blue eyes showed him to be American of a fair race. His clothes were poor, and he looked depressed. Yet the stranger was not without a certain distinction, an air as of one who did not belong there in an inn. Something in the blue eyes told of wild freedom and great spaces. He interested Phil more than anybody else in the room. He felt that here was another man whom he could like.
The talk about them drifted quite naturally upon the subject of the West, what Texas was going to do, what Mexico was going to do, the great trail toward the Pacific, and the prospect of trouble between the United States and Mexico. The shabby man raised his head and showed interest. His eyes began to glow. He was not more than three feet away, and Phil, prompted by a sort of instinct, spoke to him.
"It seems that all eyes turn toward the West now," he said.
"Yes," replied the stranger, "and they're right. It's out there that the great things lie."
He moved his hand with a slight but significant gesture toward the setting sun.
"I've been there once," he said, "and I want to go back."
"A man takes his life in his hands when he travels that way," said Phil.
"I know," replied the stranger, "but I'm willing to risk it. I must go back there. I want to look for something, something very particular."
Phil started. Here was a fourth who sought some darling wish of his heart in that far mysterious West. He felt a strange influence. It seemed to him a sign, or rather a command that must be obeyed. He glanced at Middleton and Arenberg, who had been listening, and, understanding him perfectly, they nodded.
"We three are going into the West, also, on errands of our own," said Phil. "Why not join us? Three are good, but four are better."
"It iss a fair proposition," added Arenberg. "No harm iss done where none iss meant."
"We make the offer," said Middleton, "because on such a journey one needs friends. If you do not think you can trust us, as our acquaintance is so short, say so."
The man examined them keenly, one by one. Phil, looking with equal keenness at him, saw that, despite shabbiness of dress and despondency of manner, he was not a common man. In truth, as he looked, the depression seemed to be passing away. The stranger raised his head, threw back his shoulders, and the blue eyes began to glow.
"You look all right to me," he said. "A man has got to make friends, and if you trust me I don't see why I can't trust you. Besides, I'm terribly anxious to go back out there, and my reason is mighty good."
"Then shall we consider it a bargain?" said Middleton.
"You may count me one of the band as long as you will have me," said the stranger with hearty emphasis, "and I suppose I oughtn't to come in as an unknown. My name is Breakstone, William Breakstone, though I am always called Bill Breakstone by those who know me. Bill Breakstone seems to run off smoother."
He smiled in the most ingratiating manner. The sudden acquisition of friends seemed to have clothed him about with sunlight. All the others felt that they had made no mistake.
"I'm a rover," said Bill Breakstone in round, cheerful tones. "I've been roaming all my life, though I'm bound to say it hasn't been to much purpose. As you see me now, I haven't got nearly enough to buy either a rifle or a horse for this big trip on which you're asking me to go, and on which I'm wanting to go terrible bad."
"Never mind, Mr. Breakstone--" began Middleton, but he was interrupted.
"I'm Breakstone or Bill to those that feed with me," said the new man, "and I'm Mr. Breakstone to those that don't like me or suspect me."
"All right," said Middleton with a laugh, "it's Breakstone for the present. By and by we may call you Bill. I was going to tell you, Breakstone, that we four go in together. We furnish you what you need, and later on you pay us back if you can. It's the usual thing in the West."
"You're right, my lord," said Bill Breakstone, "and I accept. It gives me pleasure to be enrolled in your most gallant company, and, by my troth, I will serve you right well."
Middleton looked at him in amazement, and Bill Breakstone broke into a mellow, infectious laugh.
"I don't talk that way all the time," he said. "It merely bursts out in spots. You may not believe it, when you look at me, but I studied for the stage once, and I've been an actor. Now and then the old scraps come to the end of my tongue. All's well that end's well, and may that be the fate of our expedition."
"Come," said Middleton, after telling his own name and that of his friends to Breakstone, "we'll go to our quarters and make a place for you. Phil and Arenberg are in a room together, and you shall share mine."
"Lead on!" said Bill Breakstone.
The four left the inn. Bill Breakstone was as poor as he described himself to be. He owned only the worn suit of clothes in which he stood, a pistol, and a pair of saddle bags, seeming to contain some linen, of which he took good care.
"Prithee, young sir," he said to Phil, "I would fain guard well the little that I have, because if I lose the little that I have, then what I have shall be nothing. Do I argue well, Sir Ivanhoe?"
"It's conclusive," said Phil. He took greatly
