THE Texan secured a conveyance, and Crockett and the two boys, with their baggage, tumbled in. Captain Cumby and Dolph mounted their horses, and away they went along the dirt road that led from the river. The last sight they had of Davidge and his friends, they were standing upon the wharf eagerly questioning some negroes and pointing after the wagon.
“They’ll know where we’re going,” said Ned to Crockett.
The backwoodsman nodded.
“So they will, youngster,” said he. “And that’s what I calculate on their doing.”
Once at the huge farm, or plantation of Captain Cumby, that genial gentleman made them feel at home; and then, after a splendid dinner in which game and fish from the streams formed a part, Crockett took both Cumby and Dolph aside and plunged at once into a long, low-voiced conversation.
The two boys sitting comfortably in the two big cane chairs heard a series of chuckles and guffaws from the three.
“The colonel’s got some sort of a joke on foot,” said Ned.
“And it’s about this matter of ours,” said Walter. “He’s hiding it from us, because I can see he wants to make it a surprise.”
That night as the host, Crockett and the two boys were sitting quietly together in the captain’s big living-room, the young fellows listening to the stories of the veterans, Dolph entered, a broad smile upon his wrinkled, tanned face.
“Well, colonel,” said he, to Crockett, “you’re a cute one. They did just what you said they’d do.”
Captain Cumby gave a shout of laughter.
“What!” cried he. “Were you talking to them, Dolph?”
Dolph nodded, still grinning gleefully.
“According to instructions,” said he, “I just took to hanging around a fence corner. And by and by a stranger comes up the road—one of the men I see leave the steamboat in such a hurry. And he gets me in conversation about the country. I told him I thought Arkansas was a great place, but that I was going to take the trail back to Texas to-morrow at sundown. He perked up at that and got almighty interested.
“‘Back to Texas?’ says he.
“‘Yes,’ says I.
“‘That’s a mighty long journey to take alone,’ says he, cunningly enough.
“‘It would be if I was going alone,’ says I.
“‘Oh,’ says he, ‘somebody’s going along with you.’
“‘Three of them,’ says I. ‘We’re off for San Antonio to-morrow night.’
‘How are you going?’ asks he, very innocent like.
“‘Oh, horseback to the Red River. Then down that on a boat to Natchitoches. Then horseback across Texas.’”
Crockett was vastly amused at this repetition of the conversation between Dolph and the man at the fence corner; both he and Captain Cumby laughed and slapped their knees. And now, for the first time, the boys got a glimpse of the backwoodsman’s intent.
“I think I see what you mean to do,” said Ned Chandler, eagerly. “You intend throwing them off the scent by letting them think we are going on to Texas.”
“And they’ll be on their way there, while we are steaming down toward New Orleans,” put in Walter, well pleased.
“That’s about the size of it,” said Colonel Crockett. “But to succeed we can’t let it rest as it lies. We must do something further; for they are pretty cute and not of the sort that fly off on a thing without feeling as sure as they can that it’s all right.”
But just what further step he meant to take the colonel didn’t say; apparently he enjoyed the suspense and excitement of the boys as much as he did the joke on Huntley and his companions.
Next day the boys spent in riding over the country with Crockett and Captain Cumby and interviewing a number of gentlemen who were interested in recruiting men and forwarding war material down the Red River to be used in the Texans’ war with Mexico. They arrived at Cumby’s plantation once more in about the middle of the afternoon; after supper they sat and talked of the doings of the day, and the prospects of success for Texas. Then Dolph entered.
“The whole lot of them’s snooping around and waiting,” said he. “And they’ve got their horses down the trail a piece.”
Crockett chuckled.
“All right, Dolph,” said he. “You might as well get our mounts ready. And then we’ll be off.”
In a half hour there came a clatter of hoofs outside.
“Now, youngsters,” said Crockett, “just do what I do; and say what I say, and ask no questions.”
They followed him outdoors. He had his long rifle across his back; his knife and hatchet were in his belt. The boys were attired, at Crockett’s request, as though for a long journey.
Dolph sat astride a tall horse and held three others by the bridles. Crockett climbed into the saddle of one and the boys mounted the others. Slowly they rode down the path to the trail, Captain Cumby walking at the side of Crockett. And when they reached the trail they drew rein.
“Well, Cumby,” said Davy Crockett, “I’ll bid you good-bye.” He spoke in a loud voice and leaned over in his saddle and shook the captain’s hand. “Texas is a long way off and war is mighty uncertain, so I don’t know if we’ll meet again or no.”
“Anyway, colonel,” said Cumby, “take care of yourself. Do all you can for Texas, but don’t forget to keep an eye out for yourself.”
“Good-bye, Captain Cumby,” said Walter Jordan, also shaking their host by the hand.
“Good-bye, youngster,” returned the captain, genially. “And you, too, boy,” to Ned. “Good luck to you.”
And so, with a call from Dolph to the captain, and a chorus of good-byes from all, they shook their reins and set off along the westward trail. A mile from the Cumby place Crockett said:
“Halt!”
They all drew up; the backwoodsman got down from his nag, and, stooping, laid his ear to the trail. Then he remounted once more, and the boys heard him laugh.
“They are coming,” said he. “I heard them pounding along at a good smart pace.”
For at least two miles further they kept to the trail, their horses going at an easy lope. Then at a word from Crockett they left it, and drew up in the deep shadows of a thick grove. Fifteen minutes later three horsemen appeared, their nags going at a sharp trot, and their voices lifted in conversation.
“They’ll probably hold to this trail till they get to Hamlin,” said the voice of Huntley. “We’ll leave it and strike straight across country and so beat them to the river. If we can get a boat ahead of them we might get into San Antonio three days in advance.”
Davidge was replying to this when the distance became too great for the listeners to hear. Fainter and fainter grew the hoof beats on the soft trail, and finally they died away altogether.
“Well,” said Davy Crockett, and the boys noted a pleased chuckle in his voice, “now that we’ve seen them well on their way, youngsters, suppose we mount once more and ride back to Captain Cumby’s. He’ll be expecting us.”