“Howdy? Light and come in,” he called, cheerily. “Oh, boys! Put up these gentlemen’s hosses.”
A young man issued from the corral and with a word to Mr. Carroll led the two horses away. Ernest was introduced to Captain Burnam; and in the house to the rest of the family. At supper there was another boy, of dark eyes and hair, whose name was James Hill—or James Monroe, they called him, by his middle name, when they didn’t call him plain Jim.
He was older than Ernest, being fourteen, but he was a boy, just the same; and although there were boys in the Burnam family, Ernest was glad to meet as many boys as possible. It would have been pretty stupid, in Texas, without boys.
“I live out just a small piece,” explained James Monroe. “You going to Gonzales, I reckon?”
“I guess so,” responded Ernest.
“Mr. Carroll some of your kin?”
“No. I’m looking for my uncle.”
“Who’s he?”
“Sergeant John Andrews, of the United States Army. But he’s been discharged, and he’s somewhere in Texas.”
“Wasn’t that an army sergeant named Andrews who was killed by the Karankawas down on the Trinity, couple of months ago, dad?” blurted one of the Burnam boys.