watching the rings of smoke from their cigarritos rise and melt into the
air. Although small and short, they looked hardy and strong. Ned
noticed the signs of bustle and expectancy about the camp. Usually
Mexicans were asleep at this hour, and he wondered why they lingered.
But he did not approach the subject directly.

"A hard march," he said, knowing that these men about him had come a
vast distance.

"Aye, it was," said the man next on his right. "Santiago, but was it
not, José?"

José, the second man on the right, replied in the affirmative and with
emphasis:

"You speak the great truth, Carlos. Such another march I never wish to
make. Think of the hundreds and hundreds of miles we have tramped from
our warm lands far in the south across mountains, across bare and windy
deserts, with the ice and the snow beating in our faces. How I shivered,
Carlos, and how long I shivered! I thought I should continue shivering
all my life even if I lived to be a hundred, no matter how warmly the
sun might shine."

The others laughed, and seemed to Ned to snuggle a little closer to the
fire, driven by the memory of the icy plains.

"But it was the will of the great Santa Anna, surely the mightiest man
of our age," said Carlos. "They say that his wrath was terrible when he
heard how the Texan bandits had taken San Antonio de Bexar. Truly, I am
glad that I was not one of his officers, and that I was not in his