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"Oh, Dan, that puts me in mind, when I was up at the rocks I was almost certain I saw one of the Indians farther up the river. As soon as I looked that way he dodged out of sight, so I only caught one glimpse of him if he really was an Indian." At his younger brother's words, Dan Radbury's face took on a look of deep concern. "You are not real sure it was an Indian?" he questioned, after a pause.
Lieutenant Radbury's party had come up to the ravine at a point opposite to the cave, about half an hour before Dan attempted to make his escape. "I see nothing of the Mexicans here," he remarked to Poke Stover, as he swept the ravine from one end to the other with his well-trained eye. "No more do I see anything," answered the old frontiersman. "But they may be behind yonder rocks, leftenant.
Ralph Radbury's rather delicate face was all aglow with excitement and pardonable pride, as he spoke, leaning on his father's gun, a long, old-fashioned affair that had been in the family's possession for many years. Ralph was but a boy of eight, although years of life in the open air had given him the appearance of being older. "What do I think?" cried Dan, who was Ralph's senior by six years.
In the midst of this, there came a loud hurrah, and a detachment of Texans, under Lieutenant W. McDonald, ran out into the street, and battered down the door of the very house where Ralph was in hiding. "Hullo, a boy!" shouted one of the Texans, as he caught sight of Ralph. And then he continued, quickly, "By George! ain't you Amos Radbury's youngster?" "I am," answered Ralph. "And you are Mr.
Instantly Amos Radbury's face flushed, and he sprang to his feet. "Stiger, you are falsifying! I do not believe you!" he exclaimed. "It's de truf." "It is not. You have either hidden the papers or else given them to somebody." At this the half-breed shrugged his shoulders again. "You cannot deceive me longer," went on the settler. "By and by you will want food and more water.
It had likewise done much for little Ralph, who had been a thin and delicate lad of five when 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.
Radbury's well-known voice, and never had it sounded more comforting to the two boys than at that moment. Then followed more shots, some striking the cabin and others hitting the Indians, who were so demoralised that for the moment they knew not what to do. "Down with the redskins!" came in the tones of a settler named Whippler, who had lost his wife in a raid about a year previous.
Then, as the day wore on, he calmed down, and tried to bribe the coloured man into giving him something to eat and to drink. Pompey was obdurate. "Can't do it, nohow," he said. "It's ag'in Mars' Radbury's ordahs, sah." A wounded man always craves water, and by one o'clock in the afternoon the half-breed's tongue was fairly lolling out of his mouth. He stood it awhile longer, then summoned Pompey.
I don't wonder the Indians enjoy it so much." "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 so far only one mustang had been taken, and that by a Comanche half-breed named Hank Stiger. Stiger had been accused of the crime by Mr.
"It may and it may not," answered the father. "Of course the grant is recorded, but with matters in such a revolutionary state the records may at some time be destroyed, and then somebody else might come forward and claim this grant." "Well, I reckon you won't give it up, partner," put in Poke Stover, suggestively. "Not without a fight, Stover," was Mr. Radbury's firm answer.
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