“Do you think we’ll have a fight, Dick?” asked Ernest, hopefully, as they trotted along.
“No, I don’t look for any,” answered Dick. “We’re only ordered to the Espada mission below Bejar, to get Smith’s family. They sent word they’d be waiting there, and the old man’s uneasy about ’em. Bowie and Fannin have been in that region, commandeering supplies from the rancheros. They say it’s all peaceful.”
At any rate, whether to a fight or not, the trot and lope across the green prairie, in the fresh air, was a delight—especially when one was a Texan soldier, among other Texan soldiers, and the enemy was likely to be watching.
But nothing happened. You would not have supposed that war was being waged. Without a single word Deaf Smith guided straight across the prairie, into the southwest, and after about an hour’s steady riding he jerked his thumb and head, swerved toward a lone tree beside the trail before, and upon reaching a small group there, halted.
They were his wife and eight or nine children, with a burro piled high with household stuff. The wife being a Mexican, and Deaf Smith being dark himself, the children all looked like Mexicans.
Deaf Smith merely grunted; the wife smiled pleasantly; the children stared. Deaf Smith beckoned to the smallest child, and lifted her before him on the saddle; his wife clambered behind him. Major Somervell took another child; Dick Carroll took another; presently all the family were accommodated. Deaf Smith led out again; and driving the burro the expedition turned back for the camp.
“Huh!” commented Dick Carroll. “Hyar we come, capturing half the Mexican nation, and never a shot fired.”
“Guess there aren’t many words wasted in this family, boys,” called Major Somervell.
And to laughter and good humor they approached the camp on the Salado.