DAVID CROCKETT, as is well known, was a man of eccentric manner and character; and eccentric people are given to whims and caprices. And it was one of these latter which gave Walter Jordan and Ned Chandler most invaluable aid.
“Do you mean it, Colonel Crockett?” asked Ned, after Huntley and Davidge had gone away, and the deck party was breaking up.
“I do,” answered the backwoodsman, in his downright way. “If I’ll not be a hindrance to you, and can help in any way, count on me.”
Needless to say the boys warmly assured him that he’d be of the greatest help to them.
“With you to post us on what to do,” said Walter, “we’ll have no trouble at all in the new country.”
Crockett smiled.
“Well, you know,” said he, “I’ve had no experience there myself.”
“But you’ve been in places that were pretty similar,” said Walter. “It’ll not be new to you.”
The boys were in high feather all the way down the river; any fear they might have had of Huntley and his friends left them; with so noted a fighting man as Davy Crockett as a companion, they felt that they were safe from the attempts of even the most hardy.
Huntley and his comrades seemed also to feel something of this; the lads now rarely saw them on deck; they kept themselves close, and did nothing to interfere with the young travelers, neither in look, word, nor act.
“But, somehow,” observed Ned Chandler, “I can’t think that they’ve forgotten us.”
“They haven’t,” replied Walter. “They are keeping us in mind, right enough. Only from now on they are going to be less open in what they do.”
Steadily upon her course down the broad, yellow Mississippi steamed the “Mediterranean.” She stopped at many places to take on or put off cargo or passengers; and Crockett, so it seemed, was constantly meeting old friends and making speeches to gatherings which came together to cheer him at wharves and landing places. The whole country, so it seemed as they got further south, was aflame at the idea of Texas and Mexico engaging in a conflict. And that such a popular and picturesque personage as Crockett should be on his way to take part in the struggle greatly added to the excitement.
Everything proceeded without any stirring events, except those noted, until the boat drew in at the mouth of the White River and Crockett encountered an old friend and fellow keeper of the border, Captain William Cumby.
“Dave,” said Cumby, as he shook the backwoodsman’s hand, “I haven’t seen you in years; and I’m ’tarnal glad of the chance to do it now, old boy.”
They conversed for some little time and Crockett introduced his young friends.
“All going to Texas, eh?” said Cumby, after he had favored each of the lads with a hand-shake which was like the grip of a vise. “Well, if it’s entertainment you’re looking for, you’ll find it in plenty, youngsters. A friend of mine just came up from there and he tells me things are biling to such a degree that they’ve got considerable trouble keeping the lid on the pot half the time.”
A small, elderly man with a parchment face and many deep wrinkles was tying a pair of horses to a fence some little distance away. Captain Cumby called to him.
“Here, Dolph,” said he. “I want you to shake hands with Davy Crockett.”
Dolph looked interested.
“Not the Davy Crockett?” said he.
“That very same gentleman,” answered Captain Cumby.
Dolph approached and gripped Crockett’s hand.
“Colonel,” said he, “I’m glad to see you. I’ve heard of you for years and ain’t never had the pleasure of setting eyes on you before.”
“Dolph,” said Cumby, after he’d introduced the boys to the old man, “they are all on their way to Texas.”
Dolph shook his head.
“I know Texas,” said he. “I’ve lived there for fifteen years, off and on; and it’s a fine country. But it’s pizen just now; and unless you’re going there for a special purpose, such as helping to fight old Santa Anna, or such, I’d advise you to keep away.”
“Dolph don’t believe in strangers going into Texas without being warned,” laughed Captain Cumby. “But he’s going back himself in a day or two.”
“I know what’s to be expected,” stated the old man, who evidently was hardy and had many years of border experience. “And I belong down there. And when the fighting starts once more I want to be in it.”
“How comes it,” asked Crockett, “that you left just when things was a-shaping themselves for the big smash-up?”
“I had to,” replied Dolph. “Just plumb had to. It all come of me being in the party that went with Colonel Milan to attack San Antonio.”
“So you were with that lot!” said Crockett.
Dolph nodded.
“And I never want to see a worse organized gathering of white men,” said he. “They’d come together from all parts of Texas and the southwest, thinking that war was to start at once. The lot of them moved toward San Antonio, and were then halted. As we didn’t attack, they got disgusted, and the whole crowd was just melting away. Burleson was at the head of the force, and one night he made up his mind to retreat. This almost brought on a mutiny among those who were left. And so then Colonel Milan goes to Burleson and asks permission to call for volunteers to attack the town. And Burleson gave it.
“Then the colonel jumped out in front of the crowd of men, who were just biling with vexation, and waves his hat.
“‘Who’ll go with old Ben Milan into San Antonio?’ shouts he.
“And in a minute the lot of them were around him and shouting like mad. Well, we attacked the town, and after a long fight from street to street, and house to house, we beat the greasers. But right in the middle of it whom should I run across but an American girl, who was living with a Spanish family in one of the houses which we broke into.”
“An American girl!” Walter Jordan gazed at the speaker eagerly, and then turned his glance upon Ned.
“Who was she?” asked the latter of Dolph.
“She hadn’t an American friend nearer than New Orleans,” said the old man. “I found that out next day. We didn’t know what to do with her; but after putting our heads together, the officers made up their minds to send her with a family party which was headed northeast, and they sent me as guide. I left her a month ago, safe and sound, with friends at New Orleans.”
“What was her name?” insisted Ned Chandler.
Dolph looked puzzled.
“It was Ethel,” said he, scratching his head. “But consarn me if I can think of the other name.”
“Norton,” suggested Walter.
“That’s right!” said Dolph. Then, in surprise: “But how’d you know it?”
“Wait,” said Davy Crockett.
Walter halted in the answer he was about to make.
“Don’t look around,” said Crockett. “But I see that sneaking fellow Davidge watching us from the upper deck.”
The place where the little party stood upon the wharf was in the great shadow cast by the “Mediterranean” as she lay at her moorings; and by a sly glance upward, Ned Chandler saw the black-clad, sharp-faced lawyer leaning over the rail of the boat, and evidently doing his best to hear what was being said.
At once, though with an assumption of carelessness, they walked up the wharf, and when out of hearing and also out of sight behind some bales of cotton, they began to question the old Texan.
In a few moments they were convinced of the welcome fact that Ethel Norton, the girl whom they were going to San Antonio to seek, was in New Orleans.
“It looks,” said Ned Chandler, to Walter, “that all we’ve got to do now is to keep on board the boat until she reaches New Orleans. It’s turned out no kind of a job at all.”
“Dad will be delighted,” said Walter. “We’ll have her in Louisville on the next up-river boat.”
“Don’t hurry your horses,” said Colonel Crockett, who seemed to be turning the situation over in his mind. “If you do, you’ll wear them out.”
The boys looked at him quickly, for there was something in his voice which caught their attention.
“There is one thing that’s sure,” said the backwoodsman, “and that is that Davidge and Huntley will keep you youngsters in view until they see you have set out for San Antonio. If you stick to the ‘Mediterranean’ all the way down the river, they will too. At New Orleans they’ll follow you; they’ll find out that the girl is there. And so you’ll lose all the advantage which Dolph’s information has given you.”
The point of this argument was plain to both boys.
“What do you think we’d best do?” asked Walter.
“I have a plan,” said the backwoodsman. “Let me carry it out for you.”
Both lads agreed eagerly.
“Very well,” said Colonel Crockett, smiling in his droll way. Then to Captain Cumby and the old Texan, “Wait here a bit for us. We’ll be back.”
With the two boys he started toward the “Mediterranean.”
“Now,” said he in a low tone as they went, “you are to order out your baggage as coolly as you please. Try and make it look as though you’d intended leaving the boat at this place from the first.”
When they reached the boat, the boys did as directed; they had their belongings in the clumsy traveling bags of that period, and they got them out on deck and down the gangplank—Crockett doing the same. When they reached the place where Captain Cumby and Dolph awaited them, Crockett said humorously:
“Cumby, you ain’t got no kind of knowledge of what’s going on yet. But keep a stiff upper lip, and just do what you’re told, and we’ll post you by and by.”
Looking around the edge of the cotton bales, Ned Chandler saw the hurrying forms of Huntley and Davidge and Barker, baggage in hand, hurrying down the plank from the steamboat. Reporting this to Crockett, the latter laughed as one well pleased, and then said to the old Texan:
“Dolph, see if you can get us some kind of a trap for ourselves and our belongings. Captain Cumby, if you don’t mind,” to that astonished gentleman, “we’ll pay a little visit to your plantation, and if you treat us well, we may stay there for a couple of days.”