“Sh!” warned his mother; but it was too late.
“That so?” queried Mr. Carroll of Captain Burnam. “Hadn’t heard. What about it?” And Ernest waited, breathless.
“So’s the tell,” acknowledged Captain Burnam, slowly. “There was a party of traders massacred by the Karankawas, and a man by name of John Andrews, from the United States Army, was among ’em. He was a newcomer. They all were newcomers or they wouldn’t have been so careless.”
Silence fell.
“That’s sure too bad,” volunteered Jim Hill, to Ernest. “Maybe ’twasn’t your uncle. Did you know him well?”
“No, I never saw him; but he was to take care of me,” faltered Ernest.
“Well,” said Mr. Carroll, quickly, “don’t you mind, boy. You’re no worse off. I’d sort of adopted you, anyway. So you come along to Gonzales, and I’ll see you don’t suffer, you bet.”
“Of course. Never mind. You stay with Dick Carroll and he’ll make a Texan of you,” spoke Mrs. Burnam. “Just forget your uncle and those Injuns.”
Ernest gulped.
“I guess I will,” he said. They all were trying to be so kind to him that he could not say anything else. And he did like Dick Carroll.