warmth came with it. One by one the men awoke. The horses stirred. Phil stood up and stretched his arms. Middleton, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg awoke. They had slept soundly and pleasantly all through the night.
"'Tis a fine couch, this Mother Earth," said Bill Breakstone, "finer than cloth of gold, if it be not raining or snowing, or the winds be not nipping. Then, in such event, I should take the cloth of gold, with a snug tent over it."
"I have slept well, and I awake strong and refreshed," said Arenberg simply. "It iss all I ask of a night."
"I have not slept well," said Phil, "at least I did not during the latter part of the night."
There was a certain significance in his tone, and the others looked at him. Only they were near, and Phil said in a low tone:
"I awoke in the night, and I was restless. I walked down to the spring for a drink, and I saw a face in the bushes, the face of a man who was watching us."
"Ah!" said Middleton, a single monosyllable, long drawn. But his tone expressed interest, not surprise. He looked at the boy as if he expected to hear more.
"I saw the face clearly," continued Phil. "It was changed, wonderfully changed in expression, but I knew it. I could not be mistaken. It was that Comanche, called Black Panther, whom we saw in New Orleans. He was dirty and degraded there, but he did not seem so last night."
"I am glad that you told this, Phil," said Middleton. "It was a lucky chance that awakened you and sent you to the spring."
"Once I thought I would not speak of it at all," said the boy. "I was afraid they would say it was only a dream or a creation of my fancy."
"I'm sure that you really saw it," said Middleton, "and I will speak with Mr. Woodfall. The time has come when we must be cautious."
The camp was now wholly awake, and the men began to light the fires anew, and take their breakfasts. Middleton talked with Mr. Woodfall, and, as the latter kept it no secret, the news soon spread throughout the train. Philip Bedford, prowling about in the dark, had seen an Indian in the woods near by, an Indian who seemed to be watching them.
The news was variously received, because there were many kinds of men in this train. Some took it seriously; others were disposed to laugh, and to hint, as Phil had feared, that it was fancy or a dream; and others cared nothing about it. What was a single wandering warrior to them? But the leader compelled a more careful advance. Scouts were sent ahead, and others rode on the flanks. Phil and his comrades shared in this duty, and that very day he and Bill Breakstone and Arenberg were among those who rode ahead.
It was not an easy duty, because they were now in thick forest, with much swampy ground about. Dark funereal cypresses abounded in the marshy soil, and gloomy moss hung from the live oaks. A deer sprang up, and Phil pulled down his rifle, but Breakstone would not let him shoot.
"Not now, Phil," he said. "We must not shoot at chance game when we are scouting. My talk may not sound like it, but I know something of wilderness life. One can never be too cautious, whether on the plains or in the woods. Things may happen. Wait for them. As the poet saith, 'One crowded hour of glorious life is worth a world without a name.'"
"Say that again," said Arenberg.
"One crowded hour of glorious life is worth a world without a name."
"It sounds good. It iss good. I will remember it," said the German.
But as two or three days passed with no sign of trouble, the face that Phil had seen in the bushes was forgotten or ignored. It was a light-hearted crowd, used to wild life and adventure, and these men, drawn from different parts of the globe, occupied with to-day, took little thought of to-morrow's dangers. The weather remained beautiful. Days and nights were dry, and they were again on good firm earth, which made the way of the wagons easy. Phil, instructed by Bill Breakstone, stalked and shot a deer, a fine, fat buck, which gave a slice for everybody in the train, and which brought him compliments. In fact, he was already a general favorite, and he did not mind when they jested now and then about the face in the bushes, and told him that he was a seer of visions. He was rapidly becoming an adept in the forest life, to which he took naturally, and in Bill Breakstone he had no mean tutor. Breakstone soon showed that he was a scout and trailer of the first quality, although he did not explain why he had spent so many years in the wilds.
"It's partly gift, and partly training, Sir Philip of the Youthful Countenance and of the Good Blue Eye," he said. "If you just teach yourself to see everything and to hear everything about you, and never forget it, you've got most of the lesson. And you, Phil, with good eyes, good ears, a quick mind, and a willing heart, ought to come fast toward the head of the class."
Phil flushed with pleasure. In the task that he had set for himself he greatly needed forest lore, and it was a keen satisfaction to know that he was acquiring it. He redoubled his efforts. He always noted carefully the country through which they passed, the configuration of the earth, and the various kinds of trees and bushes. At night he would often ask Bill Breakstone to question him, and from his superior knowledge and longer training to point out a mistake whenever he might make it. Bill was a severe teacher, and he criticised freely whenever Phil was wrong. But he admitted that his pupil was making progress. Arenberg was smoking his pipe at one of their sittings, and, taking it out of his mouth, he remarked:
"No harm iss done where none iss meant. Now what I wish to ask you, Herr Breakstone, and you, young Herr Philip, would you remember all your lessons if you were on foot on the prairie, unarmed, and a wild Comanche warrior were riding at you, ready to run his lance through you?"
"I don't know," replied Phil frankly, "but I hope such a time will never come."
"That's the rub," said Arenberg meditatively. "It iss good to know all the rules, to do all you can before, but it iss better to think fast, and act right when the great emergency comes. It iss only then that you are of the first class. I say so, and I say so because I know."
Only Phil noticed the faint tone of sadness with which his words ended, and he glanced quickly at the German. But Arenberg's face expressed nothing. Once more he was pulling calmly at his pipe. Bill Breakstone gave his words hearty indorsement.
"You're right," he said. "The Grand Duke of Germany speaks the truth. I've embodied that piece of wisdom in a little poem, which I will quote to you:
"You may lead a horse to the water,
But you cannot make him drink.
You may stuff a man with knowledge,
But you cannot make him think.
"Part of that is borrowed, and part of it is original, but, combining the two parts, I think it is a little masterpiece."
Arenberg took out his pipe again, and regarded Bill Breakstone with admiration.
"It iss one great man, this Herr Bill Breakstone," he said. "He makes poetry and tells the truth at the same time."
"Thanks, most puissant lord," said Breakstone, "and now, the lesson being over, Phil, I think we might all of us go to sleep and knit up a few raveled sleeves of care."
"We might take to the wagon," said Middleton. "If I'm any judge of weather, Phil, the beautiful spell that we've had is coming to an end."
"You're right, Cap," said Breakstone. "I noticed that when the sun set to-day
