"But I mean to go," paid Phil firmly.
The German looked at him searchingly. His interest in Phil seemed to increase.
"Something calls you," he said.
Phil was silent.
"No harm iss done where none iss meant," the German. "You have told me who you are, Mr. Philip Bedford, and where you come from. It iss right that I tell you as much about myself. My name iss Hans Arenberg, and I am a Texan."
Phil looked at him, his eyes full of unbelief, and the German laughed a little.
"It iss so," he said. "You do not think I look like a Texan, but I am one by way of Germany. I--I live at New Braunfels."
Arenberg's voice broke suddenly, and then Phil remembered vaguely--New Braunfels, a settlement of German immigrants in Texas, raided by Comanches, the men killed, and the women carried off! It was one of those terrible incidents of the border, so numerous that the new fast crowded the old out of place.
"You come from New Braunfels! You are one of the survivors of the massacre!" he exclaimed.
"It iss so," said the German, his eyes growing sober, "and I, too, wish to go far into the West. I, too, seek something, young Mr. Philip Bedford, and my road would lie much where yours leads."