“That’s Leo Roark,” he said. “From Oyster Creek down at the lower Brazos, near the coast. Ever hear of him?”
“Why, sure,” answered Ernest. “He was in that camp that was cleaned out by Indians, wasn’t he? West of town, about five years ago? The time old man Roark and two or three other men were killed?”
“That’s the fellow,” nodded Jim. “He was on guard, but he was right small. He savvied by the way the mules acted that Injuns were ’round; and before he could get the camp on its feet the Injuns had killed his father and the other man. He’d dropped his gun to cut a mule rope, but he had to drop his knife, too, and dive into the mesquite. He travelled clear to Bejar alone, chewing mesquite berries for water; and didn’t get back home for three months. That was Christmas Eve, 1829, when he was about ten years old.”
“He’s come to enlist, has he?” asked Ernest.
“He’s already enlisted. That whole bunch is from the lower Brazos, in the Bay country. More are on the way, too. I’ll admire to make you acquainted with him. He’s lived in Texas most all his life—since 1824, anyhow. His folks are from North Carolina.”
Pretty soon Leo sauntered over from his part of the field, and Ernest was introduced. A manly, sturdy, good-humored boy was Leo; rather quiet, though, as might be expected in a boy who had seen his father murdered by Indians, and had had to turn to, after that, and help support the family. He wore a blue flannel shirt, red tie and belted trousers thrust into boots; and was armed, like Ernest, with his knife and gun.
“We came as fast as we could,” he informed. “That’s a right smart ride—two hundred miles. My father and I used to take a couple of weeks to it, when we were trading into Bejar. How long have you lived out here?”
“Three years,” proudly answered Ernest.
“Then I was in Gonzales before ever you saw it,” announced Leo. “I came through with pap the first time when I couldn’t reach the stirrups. Legs just stuck out this way——” and he spread his thumb and finger. “I sure wish I’d got here now in time for that fight,” he added. “But there’ll be another, won’t there?”
“You bet,” assured Jim. “We’re going to take Bejar.”