Both had a good idea of direction, and, despite the darkness, they advanced in a fairly straight line toward the point they sought. But they found it rough traveling through the thick undergrowth, among briers and across ravines and gulleys. Meanwhile, old King Hunger, bristling and fearsome, seized them and rent them with his fangs. There was no resisting. They must even suffer and stand it as best they could.

"I think it's at least a thousand hours until day," said Bill Breakstone at last. "Do you know, Phil, I've got to the point where I'd enjoy one of those stage banquets that I've often had. You don't really eat anything. The plates are empty, the gla.s.ses are empty, and, empty as they all are, they're generally whisked away before you can get a good long look at them. But there's something soothing and filling about them anyway. Maybe it's an illusion, but if an illusion is of the right kind, it's just the right kind of thing that you ought to have."

"An illusion may be all right for you, Bill," returned Phil, "but what about some of those dinners you can get in New Orleans. Oyster soup, Bill; fish fresh from the gulf, Bill; nice old Virginia ham, Bill; stuffed Louisiana: turkey, Bill; a haunch of venison, Bill; fried chicken, Bill; lamb chops, Bill; and a lot of other things that money can buy in New Orleans, Bill?"

"If you weren't my best friend, Phil, and if you hadn't just saved my life, I might make an attack upon you with the intent of bodily harm.

You surely make me sour with your talk about the whole provision train that can be bought in New Orleans with money. Hear that old owl hooting! He's just laughing at us. I'd stop and shoot him if we had light enough for a shot."

"Never mind the owl, Bill," said Phil. "Perhaps when we get that good juicy deer we're looking for we can hoot back at him, if we feel like it."

"That's so," said Bill, although he said it gloomily.

They advanced in silence another hour, and then Phil, who was a little in advance, stopped suddenly. He had seen the gleam of water, and he pointed it out to his comrade.

"A spring," said Bill Breakstone, "and it's been trampled around the edges by many hoofs and paws."

He stooped and tasted the water. Then he uttered a mighty sigh of satisfaction.

"A salt spring, too," he said. "We're in luck, Phil. I see our breakfast coming straight toward us at this spring, walking briskly on four legs. The wild animals always haunt such places, and if we don't have savory steaks before the sun is an hour high, then I'm willing to starve to death. We must find an ambush. Here it is! Luck's a funny thing, Phil. It goes right against you for awhile, and nothing seems able to break it. Then it turns right around and favors you, and no fool thing that you do seems to change it. But I guess it evens up in the long run."

They found a dense clump of bushes about twenty yards from the salt spring, and sat down among them.

"There's no wind at all," whispered Bill Breakstone, "so I don't think that any animal eager for his salt drink will notice us. I've got my heart set on deer, Phil, and deer we must have. Now which of us shall take the rifle and make the shot? The rifle is yours, you know, and you have first choice."

But Phil insisted upon the older and more experienced man taking the weapon, and Breakstone consented. Then they lay quiet, eagerly watching every side of the spring. The darkness soon thinned away, and the bushes and trees became luminous in the early morning light.

"Something will come soon," said Breakstone.

They waited a little longer, and then they heard a rustling among the bushes on the far side of the spring. The bushes moved, and a black-tailed deer, a splendid buck, stepped into the opening. He paused to sniff the air, but nothing strange or hostile came to his nostrils.

The deadly figure, crouching in the bushes with the loaded rifle at his cheek, might have been a thousand miles away, for all the deer knew.

Phil and Bill Breakstone might have admired the deer at another time, but now other emotions urged them on. The deer stepped down to the water. Breakstone looked down the sights, and Phil trembled lest he should miss. He tried to look along the barrel himself and see what spot Bill had picked out on the animal's body. Then he watched the marksman's finger curl around the trigger and at last press hard upon it. The flash of flame leaped forth, the report sounded startlingly loud in the clear morning, and the deer jumped high in the air.

But when the big buck came down he ran into the forest as if he had not been touched. Phil uttered a gasp of despair, but Bill Breakstone only laughed.

"Don't you fret, Phil," he said. "My heart was in my mouth, but my bullet didn't miss. He's. .h.i.t hard, and we've got nothing to do but follow him by the plain trail he'll leave. We'll come to our breakfast in less than ten minutes."

Phil soon saw that Breakstone was right. The trail on the other side of the salt spring was plain and red, and presently they found the great stag in a thicket, lying upon his side, stone dead, Bill Breakstone was an adept at cleaning and dressing, and soon the ugly work was over.

They always carried matches, and Phil quickly lighted a fire of dry sticks that burned up rapidly and that soon made a fine heap of glowing coals.

"Now," said Breakstone, "we'll cook and eat, then we'll cook and eat again, then we'll cook and eat once more."

"And I don't care very much whether Comanches heard the rifle shot or not," said Phil. "It seems to me that when I eat as much as I want I can whip the whole Comanche nation."

"I feel that way, too," said Bill Breakstone, "but the Comanches didn't hear. I know it in my bones. Didn't I tell you about that streak of luck? Luck's coming our way now, and the streak will last for awhile."

They cut long twigs, sharpened them at the ends, and fried over the coals strips of the deer, which gave out such a rich aroma as they sputtered that the two could scarcely restrain themselves. Yet they did it, they remained white men and gentlemen, and did not guzzle.

"Phil," said Bill, before he took a single bite, "I remember about that dinner in New Orleans you were talking of so long ago. I remember about those beautiful oysters, those splendid fish from the gulf, the gorgeous Virginia ham, the magnificent Louisiana turkey; yes, I remember all those magnificent fripperies and frummeries, but it seems to me if they were all set down before us, spread on a service of golden plate, they wouldn't be finer than what is now awaiting us."

"Bill," said Phil with deep emphasis and unction, "you never spoke truer words in your life."

"Then lay on, Macduff, and the first who cries 'hold, enough'--well, he won't be much of a trencherman."

They fell to. They did not eat greedily, but they ate long and perseveringly. Strip after strip was fried over the coals, gave out its savory odor, and disappeared. Phil occasionally replenished the fire, adding to the bed of coals, but keeping down the smoke. Bill, stretching his long body on the ground and then propping himself up on his elbow, concluded that it was a beautiful world.

"Didn't I tell you our luck would hold for awhile?" he repeated. "Since we got into the woods, things have come easy. A good bed put itself right in our way, then a deer walked up and asked to be eaten.

"The deer It was here.

One shot-- In our pot.

"We haven't any pot, but you can use things in a metaphorical sense in order to get your rhyme. That's what poetry is for."

"I'm beginning to feel satiated," said Phil.

"'Satiated' is a good word," said Bill Breakstone, "but it isn't used much on the plains. Still, I'm beginning to feel that way myself, too, and I think we'd better begin to consider the future, which is always so much bigger than the present."

"We must find our horses."

"Of course, and after that we must find the train, which will be our chief problem. It may be where we left it or it may have gone on, thinking that we had been killed by some outlying party of Comanches.

But I don't believe Middleton and Arenberg would move without us. They may now be somewhere in these woods looking for us."

"Can you figure out the direction of the valley in which we left our horses?"

Breakstone studied the sun attentively.

"It's southeast from here," he replied, "and I fancy it's not more than three or four miles. Two likely lads like you and me ought to find it pretty soon, and, nine chances out of ten, the horses will be there.

We'll take some of the best portions of the deer with us, and start at once."

They chose the choicest pieces of the meat and started, now strong of body and light of heart. Phil's own judgment about the direction agreed with Breakstone's, and in less than an hour they saw familiar ground.

"I'm a good prophet to-day," said Breakstone. "I've got the gift for a few hours at least. I predicted truly about the deer, and now I am going to predict truly about the horses. We'll have them by the bridle inside of half an hour."

In fifteen minutes they were in the little valley, in three minutes they found the horses grazing peacefully, and in two more minutes they caught them.

"We've done the work and with ten minutes to spare," said Bill Breakstone, triumphantly, "and now, Phil, another wonderful change in our fortunes has come. If a camel is the ship of the desert, then a horse is the boat of the plains, the long boat, the jolly boat, the row boat, and all the rest of them. Now for the wagon train!"

"Now for the wagon train!" repeated Phil.

CHAPTER VIII

NEW ENEMIES

The two were in splendid spirits. They had escaped great dangers, and they were on horseback once more. It is true, they were somewhat short on armament, but Breakstone took Phil's pistol, while the latter kept the rifle, and they were confident that they could find game enough on the plains until they overtook the wagon train. The horses themselves seemed glad of the companionship of their old masters, and went forward readily and at an easy pace through the woods. They soon found the path by which they had come, and followed it until they crossed the river and reached the site of the camp. But the trail toward the plain lay before them broad and easy.