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

Colonel Travis himself presented the rifles, but his words were few. Castro took his own and examined it all over.

"Ugh!" he said. "Heap shoot. Travis kill Mexican with big gun. Red Wolf take rifle. Come!"

Red Wolf's eyes had been glittering with delight. Never before had he heard of an Indian boy of his age owning a really first-class rifle with all its accoutrements of wiping-stick, ramrod, powder-horn, and bullet-pouch. Those were the days of flintlocks, and the long-barrelled shooting-irons did not need any "cap-box" to go with them.

He was hardly expected to say much, but he made out to tell the colonel, —

"Red Wolf shoot a heap. Mexican lose hair. Wipe out Comanche."

As he finished speaking, however, Bowie himself laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Red Wolf go with his father now," he said. "Come back to Big Knife. Chief, let him come as soon as you can."

He had understood a sentence that Castro had uttered in his own tongue with its accompanying "sign."

"Chief send boy," replied Castro. "Go now. Travis fight a heap."

The two Lipans were upon the backs of their fresh mustangs the next minute, and they rode out of the gate as if some errand of importance hurried them.

"Reckon they think we've got our work cut out for us," said Crockett.

"They've seen the Mexican army," replied Bowie, "and they know just what's coming. So do we, but we mustn't say anything to discourage the men."

A watcher at a loop-hole saw Castro and Red Wolf wheel around the corner of the wall and gallop westward, but before he could report the direction they had taken the garrison was startled by the roar of a cannon from one of the southern embrasures. There had been a reason for the course taken by the Lipans.

"Who fired that gun?" shouted Travis, angrily. "Who fired without orders?"

"I did," came promptly back from Sergeant Daly. "I had the best kind of a bead on that crowd of lancers. It was only a four-pound shot, but it ploughed right into 'em."

"Not another charge is to be wasted," replied Travis. "We need every kernel. We were none too quick about the corral, though."

"Travis," said Bowie, quietly, "our time's about come. Houston must send us more men or we can't so much as man the walls."

It was a matter of course that a strong body of cavalry had been sent on in advance of the invading army. No doubt there had been an idea of striking the rebellious Texans at every possible point. The lancers, however, had not met with anything to strike at, and all they now could do, apparently, was to reconnoitre the fort. It was in a spirit of entirely empty bravado that they had approached so near or else they had forgotten that the Alamo had any artillery. They had at last halted, while their commander deliberately scanned the post and its surroundings through his field-glass.

Bang! went the four-pounder, and Daley's aim had been first-rate.

"Caramba!" roared the colonel. "My baggage mule! My equipments! Santa Maria! My cigarettes!"

Over went a fine mule, certainly, as the four pounds of iron arrived, but not because of anything that prevented him from getting up at once and braying. Upon his patient back, rising above the panniers that adorned his flanks, had been a load more large than heavy. It was this hump of varied luxury and usefulness into which the sergeant's wasteful shot had ploughed.

Mexico had not lost even so much as a mule, but the ground was strewn with cigarettes and other merchandise, and the lancer force had been warned that they were in front of a battery.

"Fellow-citizens!" shouted the angry officer. "Heroes of Mexico! Yonder is the Alamo! In a few days we will ride into it and teach the Gringo rebels a lesson they will remember. Forward, right wheel! Gallop!"

Gallop they did, but Travis's order to save ammunition had already put them entirely out of danger.

Miles away to the westward rode Castro and his son, but the chief had now gone far enough for the purpose which had taken him away from the fort. He drew his rein and Red Wolf imitated him.

"Ugh!" said Castro, holding out a hand. "Rifle!"

The splendid present was handed over, but other commands followed, and the young warrior was stripped of his bow and arrows, his lance and his pistols. His only remaining weapon was the knife in his belt. There was not a shadow of disobedience, not even of dissatisfaction, upon his face, but he was evidently waiting for an explanation.

"Red Wolf no lose rifle," said Castro, at last. "Great chief take it to lodge. Hide it with tribe."

"Ugh?" said Red Wolf, but he knew there was something more to come.

"No bad medicine," said Castro, holding out his hand again.

The three gold bars allotted to Red Wolf were tightly secured to his saddle. They were now untied and handed over. The chief dropped from his pony and walked to the nearest oak, one of three by which they had halted. He took out his knife, dug a pretty deep hole, and dropped the precious but dangerous prizes into it.

Red Wolf had followed him in silence, and now, when the earth and sods were replaced, Castro stood erect and pointed at the spot under which lay the gold.

"All Texan lose hair," he said. "Red Wolf hide bad medicine. Find some day! Die then. Montezuma wicked manitou."

"Ugh!" exclaimed Red Wolf.

Nevertheless, a deep "sign" was cut upon the oak-tree before they remounted. Then the chief went on to explain to his son the further duties required of him.

It did not take a great many words, but the meaning of it all was simple.

The Mexicans and the Lipans were now nominally at peace. Any Lipan was fairly safe among them, unless he should seem to be on a war-path against them. At the same time, Mexican cavalry would surely disarm a mere boy, – that is, they would steal his rifle, even if they then should let him go unharmed.

So far, so good, but Castro raised his arm and pointed eastward.

"Boy hear!" he said. "Travis send Texan to friend? Mexican catch ranger. Shoot him. No catch Red Wolf. Go! Ride hard! Tell great Texan chief Santa Anna here! Say he camp around Alamo. Say Travis want more Texan. Ugh! Go!"

It was an errand of importance, therefore. It was worthy of a warrior. It was a message of life and death, but it called for cunning, caution, hard riding, rather than for sharpshooting. A few further instructions as to where to go and whom to find were all that was needed, and away went the ready messenger.

Castro himself rode away, laden with the precious shooting-irons. He too had need for caution and for cunning if he was ever to rejoin his tribe, but Red Wolf, riding northward now, was saying to himself, —

"Ugh! Heap young brave. Bring Texan to Big Knife. Heap fight Mexican."

He may have been perfectly aware that Colonel Travis was the white chief who was in actual command of the rangers and the fort. To his mind, however, the Texan armies, if not the republic itself, were best represented by the stalwart hand-to-hand fighter who had given him the knife which he now so carefully concealed under his buckskins. Having done so, he transferred his old, half-despised butcher-knife from his leggings to his belt, and remarked concerning it, "Mexican take? Ugh! No lose heap knife. Take Mexican hair."

There was a menacing look in his face, and he rode on with the air of an adventurer who was quite ready for mischief, if a chance for any should be given him.

The region of country he was to go through was supposed to be peaceable, as yet. It contained only scattered ranches and small settlements, but it might speedily contain almost anything else, for perils of all sorts were pouring in upon the Texas border.

Matters at the fort were quiet, but the rangers in their quarters, even while running bullets, and the officers in their hammocks, not one of them asleep, seemed to have constituted themselves a kind of general council of war. At least they were discussing every feature of the situation, and were talking themselves more and more into a state of mind that bordered closely upon contempt for Santa Anna and his five thousand men.

The most undemonstrative man among them all was Colonel Bowie. He had slung his hammock near one of the embrasures, with a cannon at his side, and, like the cannon, he was continually peering out. Even after it grew darker and only moonlight remained to show him anything, he every now and then seemed to take an inquiring look at the surrounding country.

"I can see that cave," he muttered to himself, "as clear as if I were in it. What if the fate of a young nation should depend upon our getting into that hole again? If those old rascals knew we were coming, they'd pitch it all down the chasm. I'd like to know, just for curiosity, what fellows and how many of them have been butchered before that altar. In the old times they used up whole tribes and regiments of captives that way. Then I'd like to know where all that bullion came from. I don't believe they mined for it. They didn't know how. They got it out of river-beds, I reckon, just as they do in Asia and Africa."

He had hit the mark, for there was no other way imaginable. But where were the riverbeds, and how much more gold-dust and nuggets might there be remaining in them?

He could dream and speculate there in his hammock, but that was all he could do. His young republic was indeed to come and go. Mexico was to lose Texas and her other northern provinces. The pioneers among whom he was so daring a leader were to accomplish even more than they were planning. Beyond all his dreams, however, would be the solution of his gold problem. Only a few years later the slopes and gulches of the California mountains were to swarm with hardy miners, and the treasures of the Montezumas were to sink into insignificance in comparison with the wealth to be taken out, not by the Aztecs or the Spaniards, but by the "Gringos."

Would anybody then be found to take note of the fact that Bowie and his comrades were the advance-guard, the skirmish-line, almost the "forlorn hope" of the armies of Taylor and Scott? The United States, the world at large, and even Mexico, owe their memories something of recognition, and they were not even much "ahead of their time."

"Crockett," said Travis, just before they went to sleep, "Bowie can't get that cave out of his head."

"It's t'other way," replied Crockett. "He can't get his head out of the cave, and I'll be glad, you bet, when we all get our heads out of the cave this push of Santa Anna is putting us into."

CHAPTER XVIII.

CROCKETT'S ALARM GUN

February 24, 1836, and a splendid winter morning for a parade.

Altogether unmolested as they came, the Mexican army marched into position around the Alamo fort. Not a shot was fired at them. Not a man of the garrison was in sight. There was a sullen air about the whole concern. Upon the church wall, indeed, Colonel Travis with a field-glass studied and estimated the assailants he was to contend with.

"No heavy guns, Davy," he said to Crockett, standing near him. "Castro was right about everything else. We shall get a message from Santa Anna pretty soon. Hullo! There he comes now. Let's go down."

"You've only jest one thing to do," replied Crockett, dryly, at the head of the stairs they were to go down by.

"What's that?" said Travis, getting ready for a joke. "Out with it."

"Well," chuckled the bear hunter, one stair down, "you know what he's goin' to ask for. Just you demand the immediate, onconditional surrender of Santa Anna and all his chickens."

"Crockett!" exclaimed Travis, "I can tell you one thing. I know him. If we should surrender, no matter what conditions he might give, the old murderer would have every man of us shot before sunset."

"Not a doubt of it," said Crockett; "and between you and me and the gate-post, I'd ruther do a small chance of hard fighting first. That's about the way the men feel, too."

That was the kind of reputation the Mexican general had won for himself, and he was shortly to add to it by his conduct of his campaign in Texas.

By the time the two friends came out through the church door-way, the officer of the guard at the gate was loudly responding to a sonorous bugle summons. A mounted officer, attended by the bugler only, had halted outside.

"A cartel from His Excellency General de Santa Anna!" he shouted, in response to the hail of the sergeant. "I am accredited to Señor Travis."

"Colonel Travis, you mean!" shouted back the sergeant, angrily; but the clear, ringing tones of Bowie called out, —

"Let him in, Daly. Never mind his nonsense."

Open swung the gate, and in rode the very airy captain of lancers who had been sent to demand the surrender of the fort, but who had insolently neglected to acknowledge the military rank of its commander.

That was the sum and substance of the letter he shortly delivered to Travis, after dismounting and exchanging formal compliments. Added to it, however, was the grim assurance that, in case of resistance, the fort would be stormed at once and no quarter whatever would be shown to the garrison.

"Good!" said Travis, smilingly. "No use in my writing. Go back to the general and tell him to come on. We are ready."

"Is that all?" exclaimed the astonished captain. "Are you mad? Do you really intend to resist us?"

"Travis," whispered Crockett, "tell him to say that if they'll march right hum and agree to stay thar, we won't hurt a soul of 'em."

The captain heard him, and his astonishment showed itself more plainly, but the reply of Travis was strictly formal.

"That is all," he said. "He knows me. Tell him I am in command here. We shall hold the Alamo!"

Low bowed the captain, turning to his horse, and in a moment more he was spurring beyond the gate, and it closed clangingly behind him. There was really nothing more for the bugler to do, but he blew his horn furiously before he galloped away.

"It'll take something better'n bugle music to get the Greasers over those walls," remarked Crockett; but the long eighteen-pounder was now at one of the southerly embrasures, and, at a signal from Travis, a thunder of defiance rang out.

"That's the last blank cartridge we'll fire," said Travis. "Now let's see what they'll do next. The fools can't really mean to try to storm the works? I almost wish they would."

"If he'd said he'd do it to-day, he'll put it off till to-morrow," replied Crockett, sarcastically. "He never kept his word since he was born, – except about throat-cutting."

No other voice responded. Quiet, resolute, cheerful, the picked men who constituted that heroic garrison were at their stations, and not a quiver of fear showed itself among them. As for the enemy, Crockett had not been far out of the way. Postponement was second nature to Santa Anna. Besides, he was really possessed of considerable military education and ability. He could see that, as the rangers said among themselves, "he had a pretty hard nut to crack." He would therefore think about it during the rest of that day. All he was ready to do at once was to send his heaviest battery into position and order it to blaze away. It was composed of very handsomely polished brass nine-pounder guns. It swept into its place with a flourish of brass music from the bands and a sounding of many drums.

"There will be a breach in the wall before sunset," declared the general, confidently. "We can charge in to-morrow."

Loudly roared the guns, and they were good ones, but praise did not await the artillerymen. One shot struck the wall of the church. Another went over the fort. The remainder fell short and ploughed deep furrows in the sandy soil.

"Santa Maria!" exclaimed the colonel of artillery. "We must do better next time."

The six guns of the battery were reloaded. Every piece was aimed with care, and off they went again.

"How is it, Crockett?" shouted Travis to his friend, for the eccentric satirist was sitting on the wall, his legs dangling outside, and he was leaning forward.

"Two on 'em hit the wall," replied Crockett. "Dented it some. Tell Daly to come around and see the holes."

"Bowie," said Travis, "you and Daly. Don't let another man out. His next battery is nearly ready to open fire."

It was quite ready, but it was composed of lighter pieces. A minute or so later, Bowie and the sergeant were out in front talking to Crockett on the wall.

"They've damaged it a little," said Daly. "I don't like the looks of it."

"Could they punch a hole through," asked Davy, "if they hammered long enough?"

"Reckon they could," remarked Bowie. "I think that's our worst danger. But I want to hear from those other guns."

Two batteries sounded this time, and the three Texans stood still and watched with deep interest the effect of the shots. It did not seem to occur to either of them that a cannonball might possibly hurt a man.

"Right over my head," said Crockett, quietly. "Hit the roof of the convent."

"Hurrah!" shouted Daly. "Them nine-pound balls punch, but the sixes don't make a mark worth a cent. They can jest thunder away."

"Come on," said Bowie. "Let's go in. If they had heavier guns there'd be a breach in that wall pretty soon. Anything smaller'n sixes would be like pelting us with apples."

Santa Anna did not seem to be of that opinion. Or else he may have calculated that sharp cannonading would dishearten the garrison. His own troops evidently enjoyed it, but there was a severe shock awaiting the distinguished Mexican. Again and again his heaviest battery had spoken thunderously, and he felt sure that it must have accomplished something, but now before him stood General Castrillon, in command of all the artillery of the invading army. His face was red, his moustaches seemed to curl with wrath, and his first utterances were half choked with furious execrations upon the army commissary at Monterey.

"What is the matter, general?" sternly demanded the commander-in-chief.

"No more nine-pound shot!" roared General Castrillon. "The miscreant has loaded the other wagon with twelve-pound balls! They are useless!"

"Caramba!" almost screamed his chief. "I will have him shot! Let the cannonading cease. The fort must be taken by escalade. Have the ladders ready by nine o'clock to-morrow morning."

The fort was safer, but an admirable example had been given of the inefficiency, indolence, and general worthlessness of the Mexican officials. Not even the probability of being shot for their blunders could induce them to discharge their duties thoroughly.

"That battery's tired out," remarked Crockett, as the pause in the firing grew longer. "Reckon they're holdin' on while they can take a game of seven-up. They haven't hurt us any."

"Yes, they have," said Travis, quietly. "Don't you see? Or haven't you been up the church again? They're swinging their camps around to make a blockade."

"They can't choke us off that way," responded Crockett. "Thar ain't enough of 'em. If they'll string out in as long a line as would go' round, it 'll be thin all the way. I'd go a-gunning anywhar along that line."

"That isn't the point," said Travis. "He's arranging to cut off reinforcements. He knows how many men we have, you can bet on that. He doesn't mean to let any more in."

"The kind of men that are coming," growled Crockett, "are likely to find a way in or make one. But it's about time they were here."

"I'm going to send a despatch to Houston," said Travis. "Carson has volunteered to take it."

"Well," returned Crockett, "most likely he'll know without our tellin', but what if Carson doesn't get through?"

"We must take our chances," said Travis. "One man's all we can spare. I'm almost afraid Houston can't send any more to us just now."

"Every man in Texas owns a rifle!" exclaimed Crockett, with energy. "Not a livin' soul ought to stay at home."

"Pay and rations," said Travis, calmly. "I'm afraid Bowie's dollars didn't come in time. It isn't any fault of his, but all the gold in Mexico wouldn't save the Alamo."

Bowie was listening, but he turned away without speaking, for he was questioning himself. Was it any fault of his? Had it been his duty to return at once with the cash found in the adobe ruin instead of pushing on with Tetzcatl? It was a serious question, but at last he put it away.

"Come what may," he told himself, "I could not have done otherwise. I had no choice. I was driven. I was in one of those places where a man cannot decide for himself. The Comanches did it."

The movements of the several assignments of the Mexican army went on deliberately all through the day. The circle that was made was pretty long, however, and there were gaps between the camps which would require careful patrolling to make complete what Crockett described as "the corral of the Gringos."

"Anything like a provision-train, for instance," remarked Bowie, "couldn't get in without a battle. There isn't any American force yet gathered in Texas that could undertake to whip an army of five thousand men."

Night came at last, and with it came a moon instead of the darkness which Travis had been wishing for. It was not a good night for a secret messenger, and the mounted patrols of the enemy were going to and fro almost up to the walls of the fort.

"Their infantry outlooks are well out in advance of their lines," remarked Travis, standing in the gate-way. "I doubt if it's possible for Carson to get through."

"If I thought he couldn't I'd go myself," exclaimed Bowie. "I wish he were an Indian!"

"That's jest what I am," came from the brave ranger who had volunteered. "I've crept through a band of Chickasaws. My skelp isn't wuth as much as Bowie's is, anyhow. It's no use in talkin'. I'm off."

"You bet he is," quietly remarked a voice behind them, "and I'm goin' with him the first stretch."

There stood Davy Crockett, rifle in hand.

"I'd feel better if you would," said Bowie. "You're an older hand than he is. See him as far as their lines and take note of everything, – and come back."

"Come back?" chuckled Davy. "Of course I will. I'll have some fun, too. Get along, Carson. I'm goin' to take keer of ye. You're young."

Off they went, and Travis laughed aloud as they disappeared.

"You wait now," he said. "Davy's goin' to stir up the Greasers somehow before he gets done with 'em, but I can't guess what the sell is."

It would have been only a very sombre life-and-death affair to men of another kind, but these were hardly excited to any unusual feeling. They were in the daily habit of looking death in the face, and they could laugh at him. Nevertheless, during many minutes that followed, they and a changing group of rangers waited in the gate-way, listening silently to every sound that came to them from the hostile camps. A troop of horse went trampling by within a hundred yards of them and they heard the words of command. More minutes passed and the stillness seemed to increase.

"We'd have heard something if the Greasers had sighted 'em," whispered one of the men. "They're not took yet – "

"Hear that gun!" shouted Travis, the next instant. "That means something!"

Another cannon sounded, and another, and then they heard the rapid reports of musketry from a score of points all along the lines.

"Bad luck!" groaned a ranger.

"They've got 'em!" said another.

"It's good-by, Davy Crockett, I'm afraid," said Bowie, in a voice that was deep with emotion. "We ought not to have let him go."

The expressions of regret for him and Carson were many and sincere, all around, but the cunning old bear hunter had been doing a remarkable piece of what passed with him for fun.

Only about ten minutes before the first alarm gun sounded a pair of shadows had been gliding along on the ground, midway between the two camps that were nearest to the fort gate.

"So far, so good," whispered one of them. "What's best to do next?"

"Straight into the corral," was the reply. "I allers feel at hum among hosses. They're kind o' friendly. Besides, you've got to hev one to travel on."

A very large number of them, of all sorts, had been picketed there, a short distance in the rear of the camps. They were guarded, of course, but they were entirely out of the supposable reach of Gringo thieves from the fort, and the guards were taking things easily. So were the quadrupeds, and not one of them was at all disturbed in his mind when two men who might belong to the same army slipped silently in among them.