



Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover]



[Illustration: "The man spoke in a sharp whisper: 'You are John
Bedford?'"  Page 303]




                                 _The_
                           QUEST OF THE FOUR

                     _A STORY OF THE COMANCHES AND
                              BUENA VISTA_


                                   BY

                          JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER



                  AUTHOR OF "THE LAST OF THE CHIEFS,"
                       "THE YOUNG TRAILERS," ETC.



                              ILLUSTRATED




                        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
                       NEW YORK AND LONDON: MCMXX




                          COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY
                        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY



                Printed in the United States of America



                                CONTENTS


CHAPTER

I.--The Meeting of the Four
II.--The March of the Train
III.--At the Ford
IV.--On Watch
V.--The Comanche Village
VI.--The Medicine Lodge
VII.--The Great Sleep
VIII.--New Enemies
IX.--The Fiery Circle
X.--Phil's Letter
XI.--With the Army
XII.--The Pass of Angostura
XIII.--A Wind of the Desert
XIV.--Buena Vista
XV.--The Woman at the Well
XVI.--The Castle of Montevideo
XVII.--The Thread, the Key, and the Dagger
XVIII.--The Hut in the Cove
XIX.--Arenberg's Quest
XX.--The Silver Cup
XXI.--The Note of a Melody
XXII.--Breakstone's Quest




                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


"The man spoke in a sharp whisper: 'You are John Bedford?'"...
_Frontispiece_

"Putting his blanket beneath him, he lay before one of the fires"

"A black, snakelike loop fell over Bill Breakstone's head"

"The third boy from the rear stopped and listened"




                         THE QUEST OF THE FOUR



                               CHAPTER I

                        THE MEETING OF THE FOUR


A tall boy, dreaming dreams, was walking across the Place d'Armes in New
Orleans.  It was a brilliant day in early spring, and a dazzling
sunlight fell over the city, gilding the wood or stone of the houses,
and turning the muddy current of the Mississippi into shimmering gold.
Under such a perfect blue sky, and bathed in such showers of shining
beams, New Orleans, a city of great and varied life, looked quaint,
picturesque, and beautiful.

But the boy, at that moment, thought little of the houses or people
about him.  His mind roamed into the vast Southwest, over mountains,
plains, and deserts that his feet had never trod, and he sought, almost
with the power of evocation, to produce regions that he had never seen,
but which he had often heard described.  He had forgotten no detail of
the stories, but, despite them, the cloud of mystery and romance
remained, calling to him all the more strongly because he had come upon
a quest the most vital of his life, a quest that must lead him into the
great unknown land.

He was not a native of New Orleans or Louisiana. Any one could have told
at a glance that the blue eyes, fair hair, and extreme whiteness of skin
did not belong to the Gulf coast.  His build was that of the
Anglo-Saxon.  The height, the breadth of shoulder and chest, and the
whole figure, muscled very powerfully for one so young, indicated birth
in a clime farther North--Kentucky or Virginia, perhaps.  His dress,
neat and clean, showed that he was one who respected himself.

Phil Bedford passed out of the Place d'Armes, and presently came to the
levee which ran far along the great river, and which was seething with
life.  New Orleans was then approaching the zenith of its glory.  Many,
not foreseeing the power of the railroad, thought that the city, seated
near the mouth of the longest river of the world, into which scores of
other navigable streams drained, was destined to become the first city
of America. The whole valley of the Mississippi, unequalled in extent
and richness, must find its market here, and beyond lay the vast domain,
once Spain's, for which New Orleans would be the port of entry.

Romance, too, had seized the place.  The Alamo and San Jacinto lay but a
few years behind.  All the states resounded with the great story of the
Texan struggle for liberty.  Everybody talked of Houston and Crockett
and Bowie and the others, and from this city most of the expeditions had
gone.  New Orleans was the chief fountain from which flowed fresh
streams of men who steadily pushed the great Southwestern frontier
farther and farther into the Spanish lands.

It seemed to Phil, looking through his own fresh, young eyes, that it
was a happy crowd along the levee. The basis of the city was France and
Spain, with an American superstructure, but all the materials had been
bound into a solid fabric by their great and united defense against the
British in 1815.  Now other people came, too, called by the spirit of
trade or adventure.  Every nation of Europe was there, and the states,
also, sent their share.  They came fast on the steamers which trailed
their black smoke down the yellow river.

The strong youth had been sad, when he came that morning from the dingy
little room in which he slept, and he had been