"I s'pose," he continued, "that a baptism will make us genuine Texans, an' it 'pears likely to me that we'll get that most lastin' of all baptisms, a baptism of fire. But me an' Betsy here stand ready for it."
He patted lovingly the stock of his long rifle as he
spoke the word "Betsy." It was the same word "Betsy" that gave Ned his sudden knowledge.
"I'm thinking that you are Davy Crockett," he said.
The man's face was illumined with an inimitable smile.
"Correct," he said. "No more and no less. Andy Jackson kept me from going back to Washington, an' so me an' these twelve good friends of mine, Tennesseans like myself, have come here to help free Texas."
He reached out his hand and Ned grasped it. The boy felt a thrill. The name of Davy Crockett was a great one in the southwest, and here he was, face to face, hands gripped with the great borderer.
"This is Mr. Palmer, known all over Texas as the Panther, and Mr. Obed White, once of Maine, but now a Texan," said Ned, introducing his friends.
Crockett and the Panther shook hands, and looked each other squarely in the eye.
"Seems to me," said Crockett, "that you're a man."