“Where are we going, Dick?”
“We’re going with the general,” and Dick nodded toward the large figure in the whitish hat, rapidly making his way toward his headquarters. “When he starts we start—and I reckon ’twon’t be long, either.”
“To Gonzales, Dick?” queried Ernest, over his shoulder as he turned.
“Yes. To Gonzales, and wherever else we’re needed. When Sam Houston leaves it’s time for us to leave. We aren’t delegates.”
Ernest hastened for his horse and gun and blanket, his heart beating gladly. Nothing loth was he to go, not even if General Houston led into the Alamo itself. He could help at Gonzales, anyway. Perhaps Jim and Sion were there, with the volunteers. And Leo was liable to turn up, too.
When he had bridled and saddled, and rode back, Dick was ready and waiting; and several saddled horses had been tethered in front of the general’s headquarters. Presently the general issued; with him Colonel Hockley, his chief of staff. They were armed with pistols, and the general wore a heavy sword, in its scabbard, belted around his buckskin hunting coat. They stuffed some things into their saddle-bags, and tied their blanket rolls behind their saddles a little tighter.
Dick pricked his horse, and followed by Ernest rode forward. By this time two other men had joined, and were sitting their horses near.
“All ready, general?” queried Dick, saluting.
The general glanced up.
“All ready, sir.” He gazed inquiringly about. His eyes rested a moment upon Ernest (who tried to sit as manlike as he could), and his face softened into the glimmer of a smile. “This, then, is the force that proposes to accompany a general to his army?”