For the Liberty of Texas, Page 4

  CHAPTER I.

  THE HOME ON THE FRONTIER.

  "Dan! Dan! Come quick and see what I brought down with the gun!"

  "Why, Ralph, was that you I heard shooting? I thought it was father."

  "No; I was out, down by the river bank, and I brought down the finestdeer you ever set eyes on. He was under the bunch of pecan-trees, and Ilet him have it straight in the neck and brought him down the firstcrack. Now what do you think of that?"

  Ralph Radbury's rather delicate face was all aglow with excitement andpardonable pride, as he spoke, leaning on his father's gun, a long,old-fashioned affair that had been in the family's possession for manyyears. Ralph was but a boy of eight, although years of life in the openair had given him the appearance of being older.

  "What do I think?" cried Dan, who was Ralph's senior by six years. "Ithink you'll become a second Davy Crockett or Dan'l Boone if you keepon. It's a wonder the deer let you come so close. The wind is blowingtoward the stream."

  "I trailed around to the rocks where we had the tumble last winter, andthen I came up as silently as a Comanche after a scalp. I was justabout ready to fire when the deer took alarm, but I caught him when heraised his head, and all he gave was one leap and it was all over.Where is father? I must tell him." And Ralph looked around impatiently.

  "I don't know where father is, if he isn't down by the river. I thoughthe went off to look up those hogs that got away last Saturday. In thesetimes, so he says, we can't afford to lose six fat porkers."

  "Perhaps those rushers who were on their way to Bexar rounded them upon the sly."

  "No; father put the crowd down for honest men, and he rarely makes amistake in judging a man, Ralph. Either the hogs got away by themselvesor else some of those sneaking Comanches have been around again."

  "Oh, Dan, that puts me in mind,--when I was up at the rocks I wasalmost certain I saw one of the Indians farther up the river. As soonas I looked that way he dodged out of sight, so I only caught oneglimpse of him--if he really was an Indian."

  At his younger brother's words, Dan Radbury's face took on a look ofdeep concern. "You are not real sure it was an Indian?" he questioned,after a pause.

  "No, but I'm pretty sure, too. But even if it was an Indian it mighthave been Choctaw Tom, you know."

  "You're wrong there, Ralph. All the Caddo Indians are friendly to thewhites, and if it was Tom he wouldn't hide away after you had spottedhim. More than likely it was a dirty Comanche, and if it was--well, wehad better tell father about it, that's all."

  "Why, you don't think----" Ralph paused, abruptly.

  "I know a Comanche isn't to be trusted. Come, let us look at the deer,and let us try to find father at the same time. Is the gun loaded?"

  "No." Ralph looked sheepish. "I--I was so pleased to bring down thedeer I forgot all about loading again."_"Then you're not such a famous hunter, after all, Ralph. The wise man,especially in these parts, loads up before his gun-barrel has a chanceto cool. Put in your load at once, and I'll bring along that Mexican_escopeta_ father traded in for a mustang last week. I don't believethe old gun is of much account, but it will be better than nothing."

  "Father wouldn't take it from the greaser if it wasn't all right. Butwhy must we both be armed? Do you think the Indians are close by?"

  "As I said before, I don't believe in trusting these bloodthirstyComanches. Poke Stover knows them like a book, and he says they arejust aching to go on the war-path, now the government is having so muchtrouble of its own."

  "If the Indians are around it won't be safe to leave the cabin alone,"was the younger boy's comment.

  "I reckon we can leave it for awhile, Ralph. We won't be gone more thanan hour, at the most," concluded Dan Radbury, as he disappeared intothe cabin for the firearm he had mentioned.

  The scene was that of a typical frontier home, in the heart of Texas,close to the Guadalupe River, and about ten miles from what was thenthe village of Gonzales. It was the year 1835, and the whole ofnorthern and western Texas could truthfully be put down as a "howlingwilderness," overrun with deer, bison, bears, and other wild animals,wild horses, and inhabited only by the savage and lawless Comanche,Apache, Cherokee, and numerous other tribes of Indians. As regards therest of the State, it may briefly be stated that this immense territoryof thousands of square miles contained not over twenty-two thousandwhite and black people combined. How many Indians there were is notdefinitely known, but they have been estimated at fifteen to eighteenthousand. The main cities were San Antonio de Bexar, San Felipe deAustin, Nacogdoches, San Augustine, Columbia, and the seaport town ofVelasco, but not one of these boasted of more than thirty-five hundredinhabitants.

  To this territory had come, three years before, Amos Radbury, thefather of the two lads introduced at the beginning of this chapter. Thefamily were from Georgia, where Mr. Radbury had once owned a largeinterest in a tobacco plantation. But a disastrous flood had robbed himnot only of the larger portion of his property, but also of his muchbeloved wife, and, almost broken-hearted, the planter had sold off hisremaining interest in the plantation for five thousand dollars, andemigrated, first to New Orleans, and then to his present home. The tripfrom New Orleans had been made in a prairie wagon, drawn by a doubleyoke of oxen, and had consumed many weeks, and that trip over theprairies, through the almost trackless forests, and across numerousdangerous fords, was one which the boys were likely never to forget. Onthe way they had fallen in with a small band of treacherous Indians,but they had been saved by the timely arrival of some friendly Caddos,under the leadership of Canoma, a chief well known throughout thelength and breadth of Texas.

  On reaching the Guadalupe River, a stop of two weeks had been made atGonzales, and then Mr. Radbury had obtained possession of a grant ofland embracing over five hundred acres, the tract lying on both sidesof the stream. The price paid for the land was ten cents per acre. Thisis not to be wondered at, since land in other portions of the State wassold as low as two cents per acre!

  The three years spent in the wilderness had done wonders for all of themembers of the family. The hard work of clearing off the timber,planting, and of building a cabin and a cattle shelter, had done muchto make Mr. Radbury forget his grief over the loss of his wife andproperty, and the rough outdoor life had made Daniel Radbury "as toughas a pine-knot," as he was wont to say himself. It had likewise donemuch for little Ralph, who had been a thin and delicate lad of fivewhen leaving the old home in the magnolia grove in far-off Georgia.Even yet Ralph was not as strong as Dan, but he was fast becoming so,much to his parent's satisfaction.

  Amos Radbury's venture had prospered from the start. The land was richand his crops were consequently heavy, and no disease reached hiscattle, which speedily grew to the number of several hundred heads. Inaddition to his beeves he had nearly a hundred hogs, and during thelast year had taken to raising horses and mustangs, for the market atBexar, as San Antonio was commonly called.

  The raising of mustangs had been a source of much satisfaction to theboys, who speedily learned to ride so well that even the liveliest ofthe animals failed to shake one or the other off, although, of course,neither could do a thing when the beast got down and began to rollover.

  "It's immense, to ride like the wind!" Dan would cry. "There is nobetter sport in the world! I don't wonder the Indians enjoy it somuch."

  "Yes, the Indians enjoy it, and they'll enjoy getting our mustangs,too, if we give them the chance," had been Mr. Radbury's reply. But sofar only one mustang had been taken, and that by a Comanche half-breednamed Hank Stiger. Stiger had been accused of the crime by Mr. Radbury,but had pleaded his innocence, and the pioneer had dropped the matterrather than have more trouble, since it was known that the half-breedand the Comanches in the neighbourhood were closely related in alltheir underhanded work. In those days it was no uncommon thing to hanga horse thief, but had this happened to Hank Stiger, it is likely thatthe Comanches under Bison Head, who had their hunting-grounds in theCross Timbers, so-called, of the upper Color
ado River, would have goneon the war-path immediately following.