In a tone little above a whisper he called, "Texas!" Instantly the small head was lifted from the grass, the small ears pointed forward, and the large intelligent eyes asked plainly, "Do you want me?"
His master replied by a gesture, and the horse walked softly up to him. John mounted and headed him towards the creek. And then—
"Whither go you, amigo?" rang in his ears.
He looked round. José Cardenas had risen, and his hand was on the pistol in his belt.
"It's time we were all going," called out John, coolly. "Wake the others, camarada, and saddle up while I give Texas another drink."
Cardenas hesitated. He looked at the boy sitting carelessly sidewise on his horse, he looked at the fine silver-mounted saddle and bridle lying under the tree, and his suspicion seemed absurd. He removed his hand from the pistol and turned to rouse his comrades.
With one far-reaching bound, Texas and his rider were over the creek and dashing through the woods beyond, a jubilant shout ringing back:
"Adios, camaradas! Any message for General Houston?"
The boyish bravado had like to have cost him dear. Before the words were well out of his mouth a bullet from Cardenas's pistol showered the leaves from the bough just over his head.
On he dashed, a fusillade of pistol-shots ringing out behind him. But he did not mind them; he was fast leaving them behind. His horse was in perfect condition, and as John felt the springy stride beneath him, he felt sure he could trust Texas to carry him safe out of danger.