Dolph nodded.
“And I never want to see a worse organized gathering of white men,” said he. “They’d come together from all parts of Texas and the southwest, thinking that war was to start at once. The lot of them moved toward San Antonio, and were then halted. As we didn’t attack, they got disgusted, and the whole crowd was just melting away. Burleson was at the head of the force, and one night he made up his mind to retreat. This almost brought on a mutiny among those who were left. And so then Colonel Milan goes to Burleson and asks permission to call for volunteers to attack the town. And Burleson gave it.
“Then the colonel jumped out in front of the crowd of men, who were just biling with vexation, and waves his hat.
“‘Who’ll go with old Ben Milan into San Antonio?’ shouts he.
“And in a minute the lot of them were around him and shouting like mad. Well, we attacked the town, and after a long fight from street to street, and house to house, we beat the greasers. But right in the middle of it whom should I run across but an American girl, who was living with a Spanish family in one of the houses which we broke into.”
“An American girl!” Walter Jordan gazed at the speaker eagerly, and then turned his glance upon Ned.
“Who was she?” asked the latter of Dolph.
“She hadn’t an American friend nearer than New Orleans,” said the old man. “I found that out next day. We didn’t know what to do with her; but after putting our heads together, the officers made up their minds to send her with a family party which was headed northeast, and they sent me as guide. I left her a month ago, safe and sound, with friends at New Orleans.”
“What was her name?” insisted Ned Chandler.
Dolph looked puzzled.