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

"I'll take that drove," exclaimed Jim, as several of the whoopers wheeled into a closely gathered group.

"Got him!" he shouted, as his rifle cracked.

"One more," added Bowie. "Hold your fire, men. It won't do to have too many guns empty at one time."

The backs of two mustangs were empty, however, and the yells which followed were those of angry braves who had been stung to rashness rather than intimidated. Of course, they all wheeled away at first, taking their dead comrades with them.

The Texans again moved steadily forward, but hardly more than a quarter of a mile had been gained before Bowie shouted, —

"Here they are, men! The whole band has got in on us this time. They're gathering for a rush. Ready! Die game!"

A swarm, – a cloud, – an overwhelming torrent of the fierce cavalry of the plains, was forming in loose but effective array to sweep in upon their victims. What could six rifles and two bows do against such a storm as was now about to burst?

"Die like men!" shouted Bowie. "Kill every redskin you can draw a bead on!"

Crack, crack, went rifle after rifle, and not a shot was thrown away; but the Comanches were whooping forward upon their charge and all would soon be over.

"Hullo! What's that?" shouted the colonel.

"Whoop!" yelled Castro. "Rifle!"

"Ugh!" said Red Wolf. "Heap Texan! Comanche lose hair!"

Sharp, rapid, utterly unexpected, was the rattle of rifle-shots from away beyond the cloud of pony riders. Down went horse and man in quick succession.

"Travis and the rangers!" yelled Jim Cheyne.

"The boys have come! Thank God!" gasped Bowie. "Five minutes more and Houston wouldn't have had a dollar of this stuff."

Not even then was he wasting a thought upon his own life or upon the lives of those who were with him.

It was a terrific surprise to the red riders. They were smitten as by lightning. They could have no idea of the numbers of their new assailants, and they were in wholesome dread of the marksmanship of the Texans. Well they might be!

Wheeling into a line at the order of their commander, the rangers were deliberately picking off warrior after warrior until their rifles were empty.

"Forward! Charge!" shouted Travis.

"Come on, fellers!" yelled Crockett. "It's Bowie and the boys! Don't you miss a shot."

They were not missing so long as any human target was within pistol range, but the targets were getting away. This was not at all what they had counted on. They fought for a moment, of course, for they were warriors, and their flights of arrows were not sent in vain.

Right through them rode the rangers, leaving three of their number on the grass, while several more carried with them well-aimed arrows.

"Hot work," laughed Travis, "but here we are! Bowie, old fellow! Hurrah!"

Away wheeled the stricken Comanches, for the rangers were reloading. The savage rush was over and the next business was to get out of rifle range.

It was a curious spectacle. There stood Crockett, the rough old bear hunter, the sarcastic humorist, the lank, lantern-jawed frontiersman, hugging Colonel Bowie. It almost seemed as if he were crying.

"Hurrah!" he shouted. "I kind o' knowed they hadn't wiped him out."

"Crockett, old boy!" said Travis. "Give him a chance to speak. You are choking him."

"Jest what I want to do," said Davy. "Now, Bowie, whar have you been?"

"Let go, Crockett," said Bowie, "and I'll tell you. But some of the men are hurt – "

"The boys are 'tending to 'em," replied Travis. "How about Tetzcatl?"

"Not a word of him now!" burst from Bowie, vehemently. "Travis! I've found cash enough to pay for all the ammunition we need to whip Mexico. I'll tell you as we go along. Where's Sam Houston?"

"He's to be at the fort to-day," said Crockett. "But whar on earth did you pick up any dollars?"

The first answer was Bowie's finger on his lips. Then they three mounted and rode on together.

As for the rest of the rangers, they were indeed caring for the wounded, and even for the dead, but the story of the cash found in the ruined adobe house was travelling fast from man to man.

That was followed, of course, by an account of the raid into Mexico with Tetzcatl, but that part of the story was defective. As it was related it did not contain any intimation of the mountain pass, the cavern, or the treasure of the Montezumas. It did not, and yet one ranger after another said to the man next him, in varied forms of speech, —

"Tell you what, those fellows that went with Bowie are keeping back something. They've learned more than they're willin' to tell. We must get it out of 'em."

As for Red Wolf, he and his father had been lost sight of for a few minutes, but in the last part of that close, terrible fight they had been plying their bows incessantly, and now they were out on the prairie. They were Indians, Lipans, an old warrior and a young brave, and they were following the custom of their race, for they were taking trophies.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE ARMY OF SANTA ANNA

"Houston? You here? I've something to show you. Hurrah for Texas!"

The commander-in-chief had been sent for days earlier, and he had come in haste, for a fast-riding courier had brought him word that Santa Anna and his army were already across the Rio Grande.

"Bowie! Thank God!" almost roared the old hero, springing forward. "Oh, Bowie! I'd begun to believe you were dead."

"Not a bit of it!" shouted back Bowie. "I've won a pot of money for our side. Here it comes."

A train of horses was filing through the gate-way of the Alamo. They were not the worn-out animals which had travelled so fast and so far, for Crockett had made the rangers give up as many quadrupeds as were necessary for the wounded men and the money-packs. Three horses, indeed, bore sadder burdens, for the dead also had been brought in. These had halted outside the walls and a burial party was at work.

"It costs us something to win freedom," was the sombre comment of General Houston. "Many another brave fellow must go down before we clean out the Greasers and the redskins. Now, Bowie, come in and tell me what this means."

They walked on into an inner room of the fort, but not even to Houston did Bowie as yet unfold the secret of the cavern.

"Too many know it already, or half know it," was the thought he did not put into words. He told all about the Spanish dollars and doubloons, however. In turning them over to the state, less the small sums agreed upon as the allowance of his men, he stipulated that the first use made of any money should be for provisions, powder and ball, for the defence of the Alamo.

"Houston," he said, with emphasis, "my notion is that it can't get here any too quick. Travis is wrong. Santa Anna will march straight for the Alamo."

"He may. He may," replied the general. "At all events, I must set out with the cash. I must send you all the help I can right away. Then I must raise troops and march to meet the Mexicans. It's a blue time for Texas, but this is a ray of light."

It was only one ray, for in all other directions the prospect seemed dark. His own preparations for departure were made at once, and in the gloom of that very evening he rode away.

"We must go all night," he said, "and not a soul outside the fort must know what we're taking with us."

About an hour later, eleven men sat together in the upper corner room of the convent building, and every man of them bound by an oath and by his word of honor to keep secret all he might hear.

"Boys," said Bowie to his own men, "if Travis and Crockett are let in and no more, the secret is just as safe. I don't feel as if they were outsiders."

"Just the same as ourselves," replied Jim Cheyne. "They're to help us git up the expedition. But what about the gold bars we fetched this time? They'd tell it all if we showed 'em now."

"Keep 'em for expenses when we are ready for business," said Bowie. "I didn't say a word of them to Houston. We can hole them right here in the corner of this room. Safe as a bank."

"And if Santa Anna captures the fort, what then?" asked Joe.

"Nobody 'll ever hear of any gold he got here," replied Bowie, grimly. "If one of his men found it, he'd take it away from him and have him shot for desertion."

The bars belonging to the men were brought, and they made only a small pile, after all, when packed in a corner, under the couch, with old saddles stuffed in front of them. Red Wolf's prizes, of course, were not included.

"Ugh!" said Castro, after watching the operation. "Big Knife kill Travis. Kill Crockett. No kill all Texan. Heap shut mouth. Montezuma talk, all bad medicine."

"All right, Castro," said Bowie. "When my time comes I shall die."

"What does he mean?" asked Travis.

"You couldn't root it out of him," said Bowie. "He believes that every white man who meddles with this stuff is bound to go under. It's poison."

"Out with your yarn, then," said Crockett. "I'll take my chances. You kin name the day for my funeral."

Steadily, from step to step, the colonel told the story of his raid into Mexico. Not a word was uttered by anybody else until he came to the description of the cavern.

"Ugh!" exclaimed Castro. "Heap bad medicine. Now Travis go under. Crockett lose hair."

He evidently did not wish to hear any more himself, but curiosity is a strong tether, and, after all, he was an Indian, and upon him the mysterious peril might not have so much power. Red Wolf knew the secret already, and nothing evil had as yet happened to him. The chief remained, therefore, in silence, while Bowie told of the human sacrifices, the fate of Tetzcatl, and the heaps of ingots, tons and tons of them.

"Go for it?" shouted Travis. "Of course we will. As soon as we've beaten the Greasers I'll raise the men that can ride across Mexico to get the stuff out of that cave. It's a wonderful thing to know, but when you come to think of it, it's the most natural thing in the world. Montezuma and Guatamoczin did exactly what you and I would have done, both before Cortez came and afterwards. We wouldn't have given it up neither, and they didn't."

"Thar's heaps of human natur' in this world," remarked Crockett. "I'd ha' bet they'd ha' done just exactly what they did do. There's nothing curious about it."

"No more there is about their idols," added Travis. "They kept them just as all the other heathen do in Asia and Africa. Hundreds of millions of idol-worshippers go it right along, with the missionaries among 'em. They kill the missionaries, too, now and then. Some eat 'em, and these fellows cut their throats and pitch 'em into a hole."

It seemed as if every trace of anything mysterious or improbable departed from the old legend of the Aztec gold and silver the moment the truth concerning it came out to be studied by such matter-of-fact men as these. Their hard common sense took it like any other business affair, and they were almost ready to name beforehand the men they meant to take with them on the expedition they planned to secure the treasure.

After telling the story, however, Bowie grew silent and moody. He looked around him upon the bare walls of the room. He passed a hand over the low couch upon which he was sitting. He hardly seemed to listen to what the others were saying. When at last there was a pause and a silence, he arose to his feet, and a shadow, darker than usual, was on his face.

"Travis," he said, "I want to get out of this room. It's close and hot. I somehow don't like it. It keeps me thinking of Tetzcatl, too, and of all he said when we talked with him here. He was a kind of devil, he was. I'm glad he went down into that chasm. If it's good and deep he 'll stay there."

He strode rapidly out of the room, and they heard Castro mutter, —

"Big Knife too much talk. Montezuma talk bad medicine. All lose hair. Ugh!"

Red Wolf had listened but he had said nothing, for nothing was left him to tell. He was a proud young brave, however, for the Big Knife, the great white chief, had praised him tremendously, and his own father had more than once said, "Heap young brave."

"Ugh!" said Castro, laying a hand upon the arm of his son; and they arose and followed Bowie until they stood with him in the plaza.

"Well, Castro?" asked Bowie. "What is it?"

"Want horse," said the Lipan chief. "Good pony. Ride heap. See Mexican. Come tell Bowie. Sleep now. Go before sun."

"Bully!" exclaimed Bowie. "I'll give you the best critters in the fort. I want to know just where Santa Anna is. What you two want first, though, is to sleep about ten hours and eat all you can hold."

Castro meant just that, for even the tough sinews of a Lipan warrior could feel the strain they had borne. Away he went with Red Wolf, and now the colonel's face grew brighter, for half the garrison was gathering around him.

"I can't talk much now, boys," he said. "You know about all there is to tell, but I'll add one thing."

He pointed westward in silence for a moment, and his eyes wore almost a dreamy look as he went on:

"All that land, clean through to the Pacific, must belong to Texas. Somewhere in yonder among the mountains, in the rocks and in the gullies, there is more gold and more silver than the world has ever yet heard of. The new Gulf republic must take in New Mexico, and Arizona, and California, and it will become the treasure-house of all the time to come. We are poor now, but we shall be the richest people on earth. Only we must understand one thing at the outset. Gold is like freedom. Every pound of it that was ever won was somehow paid for in blood. I'm ready to give mine, right here, if I'm called for. Now I'm going in for a hammock. I'm clean used up."

It was past the middle of February, in the year 1836. The weather had been stormy, but was now better, bearing few traces of winter as it is in more northerly latitudes. It was a season of the year that could be expected to favor military movements, but the Mexican commander had been disappointed and seriously delayed during all the earlier part of his invasion. The rains and mud had been in the way of heavy provision-trains and artillery.

A little after sunrise on the morning after the arrival of the returning raiders, the sentry relieved at the Alamo gate-way reported the departure, an hour earlier, of Castro and his son.

"Gone on a scout," said Travis. "Hope they'll have good luck. We don't know half enough just now."

All that day was spent by the small garrison of the fort in what they called getting ready for a better state of things. They expected reinforcements and supplies, but Crockett and Bowie, rather than even Travis, insisted upon putting all they had in the best possible order. A strict account of rations was taken. Cannon were carefully cleaned, and most of them needed it. Every weapon, large or small, was brought out for inspection or repairs. Every ounce of powder was measured as if it were gold. At least a dozen men were kept at work moulding bullets, and for this purpose a number of leaden filigree ornaments were taken from the window casings of the old church.

"Best that can be did with 'em," remarked Crockett. "Church lead is as good as any other to kill Greasers with."

The supply of water was sure, for the Spanish builders had constructed aqueducts which brought an abundance, like springs within the walls.

The men were in high spirits over their work, and even Colonel Bowie lost some of the gloom which had been upon his face.

"Crockett," he remarked, however, "I hope Houston 'll make good time. We shan't be ready for Santa Anna an hour too soon."

"Travis hardly believes he's comin'," replied Crockett. "He reckons the old monte-player will strike for the middle of the State and the coast towns."

"Not and leave the Alamo behind him," said Bowie. "We'll have the first fight right here, and it 'll be a hard one."

So they talked and worked, and the day passed and another night came and went. It was a little after the middle of the next day that a brace of mustangs were reined in upon the brow of a low hill looking southward.

"Ugh!" exclaimed one of them. "Red Wolf heap look. Santa Anna come!"

The younger rider was silent, but he was looking. For the first time in their lives they had seen an army. The southerly prairie was nearly level, traversed along its farther border by a winding stream of water. On this side of the stream, in long lines, in columns and in detachments, marched several regiments of infantry attended by batteries of light artillery. On their flanks and in the advance rode strong bodies of lancers. There were flags and pennons, and the serried bayonets wore a warlike look. There were even bands of music.

"Heap Mexican!" exclaimed Red Wolf. "Tell Big Knife."

"Alamo men all die," replied Castro.

He did not move, however, during several minutes, for the bugles of the lancers and the shouted orders of the infantry commanders had called a halt. Very shortly there were sufficient indications that the invading force had marched far enough for that day and that it was now going into camp.

It was by no means a perfectly organized army, and there was a sad lack of precision in its movements, but its dispositions for camping were tolerably well made. Tents were put up for officers, but the rank and file were expected, evidently, to bivouac. There would be little hardship in that, but if the Lipan scouts had been able to make a closer inspection, they might have noted that the entire array of over five thousand men wore a hard-travelled, worn-out appearance, as if they had been pushed and as if it were really about time that they should have a rest.

There were clumps of trees on the prairie. Wood could be cut and fires could be made, but before the first smoke began to rise Castro wheeled his horse.

"Ugh!" he said. "Ride now. Kill pony. Comanche no come."

He had been staring at point after point to discover if any of his old enemies were acting with the Mexicans. If they were, none of them could as yet be seen among the troops of Santa Anna.

He and his son disappeared over the rolls of the prairie, and, unless they should be intercepted, there would be news for the garrison of the Alamo.

Not in the centre of the Mexican camp, but on the bank of the river, a large and nearly new marquee tent had been put up as the first order for a halt was given. At a little distance a fire had been quickly kindled and cooking was already going on. In front of the tent stood a group of officers and they were chatting merrily.

"We will crush the Alamo like an eggshell," asserted one of them.

"It will surrender at discretion on our arrival," added another!

"Travis will never be so foolhardy as to resist an overwhelming force," remarked a third; but he added to the dark-faced man in the middle of the group, "General, what are we to do after dinner? I'm tired of inspecting."

"So are the men," responded the general. "I think we shall have something better. We can empty a coop."

He pointed as he spoke at a spot of ground fifty yards from the tent, at the right, where several ragged peons were at work with stakes and cord. They were already constructing a cockpit, for the Mexican commander did not propose to let so small a matter as the conquest of Texas deprive him of his favorite amusement. Moreover, on the bank of the river, beyond the cockpit, were drawn up two large wagons, and each of these was almost over-piled with wicker coops, the occupants of which were from time to time crowing defiantly at each other. If the army was to rest there while the Texans were getting ready to receive it, more than one of the coops might possibly be emptied by the proposed combats of the gallant poultry.

Meantime, the disposition of battalions, regiments, and batteries was left haphazard to subordinates who had no fowls to think of, and the general and his brilliant staff went in to dinner.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE FIRST SHOT

Four days went by. All the space inside the walls of the fort had a clean and tidy look. The soldiers of the garrison went hither and thither with an air of being under more than usual drill, but their varied uniforms were about the same as ever. A light rain was falling and the skies overhead were heavy with clouds, as if a storm were coming.

A shout was heard outside the gate, and then its massive oaken portal swung wide open, while Colonel Travis stood by the six-pounder, his handsome face bright with expectation.

"Boys!" he shouted, "the supplies have come!"

Nearing the gate-way was a train of large wagons, and on either side and in the rear of them rode mounted riflemen.

"Reinforcements, too!" exclaimed Crockett, as he strode forward to the side of Travis.

Colonel Bowie was already out beyond the wall, scrutinizing the approaching train and its guard.

"Not a quarter as many men as we needed," he remarked, in a low, foreboding tone. "I hope there are more coming."

On rolled the wagons, while cheer after cheer went up from the garrison, to be answered as heartily by the new arrivals.

"Keep right on," shouted Travis to the drivers. "Halt in front of the church."

The last pair of wheels was in the gate-way when galloping past them came a half-naked rider.

"Whoop!" he yelled. "Red Wolf want Big Knife. Castro horse dead. Santa Anna come!"

"All right!" called out Travis. "Come this way. Bowie, bring him in. Men, go on unloading. Tally all there is."

Down from his panting pony dropped the young Lipan, and his eager report required few questions to make it clear. Either his father had not been so well mounted or else he had been too heavy a weight for a long race. His horse had given out entirely a few miles from the fort, and Red Wolf had ridden on alone. All the officers of the rangers had gathered to hear, and when the report was completed they looked at each other with serious faces.

"It's just about as we expected, after all," said Travis. "I'm glad there are no Comanches with them. If Castro is right, there are over five thousand of them. A thousand more or less won't make much difference. They're about four days' march from us, I should say, but the lancers could get here sooner. Most likely they will."

A rugged-looking ranger stood before him, touching a ragged hat-brim.

"Well, Sergeant Daly," said Travis, "how do you find the cargo?"

"Bully, far as it goes!" responded the sergeant. "I reckon it gives us rations for about two weeks. Pretty good lot of rifle powder. Not so much cannon powder and grape-shot as we'd ought to have. No solid shot to speak of, but there's some. Forty spare rifles, and I wish we had men for 'em. But these yer new men are all prime fellers, and we can foot up one hundred and forty good shots, all told."

"We ought to have at least three times as many," said Travis. "Every man is worth his weight in gold just now."

"The trouble is," remarked Bowie, "Houston hasn't had time yet to use those Spanish dollars. He will, though. What we must do is to try and hold the fort till Austin's riflemen get here. Every day 'll count. Santa Anna is a slow marcher."

"You're mistaken thar," exclaimed Crockett. "If his Greasers could fight as well as they kin walk, we'd be gone up sure!"

The next duties related to the unloading of the wagons and to all the information that could be obtained from the new men. Even while Travis was talking with them, however, an hour or so later, a hand touched his arm, and he turned to look into the face of Castro.

"What is it, chief?" he asked.

"Close gate," said Castro. "Load big gun. Lancer! Bring pony in."

"They mean to make a dash for our corral, do they?" replied Travis, and orders for the care of the horses of the garrison went out at once.

It would not do to lose them all just now, and they, at least, would have abundant rations within the enclosure. One of the best of them was turned over to Castro in place of his used-up pony, and another as good was given to Red Wolf.

While this was going on, Bowie had been busy with the spare rifles that had just arrived, and now he made his appearance, carrying two weapons that were more ornamental than the rest, for both were silver mounted.

"Travis," he said, "this is for the chief, and this is the one I promised Red Wolf."

"They've earned 'em," exclaimed Crockett. "Give 'em a first-rate outfit. Hope they'll kill a grist of Greasers."