"That's about so," came from one of the rangers. "We can't git through 'em."
Once more Tetzcatl turned, and now he pointed westward.
"Apaches!" he said. "Bowie must come with me. A few days' ride. Then he will come back with his ponies loaded."
He spoke with some difficulty, and at the end of his very pointed remarks he spurred his mule, as if he were going his own way whether or not the Texans were to follow.
"Boys," said Bowie, "what do you say?"
"Thar isn't a word to say," growled Joe. "We've jest got to git. Come on, fellers. This crowd's travelling gold or no gold."
"The coast 'll be clear by the time we want to come back," said the colonel. "We shall hardly meet an enemy going or coming."
So they turned and rode on after the old Tlascalan. Behind them quietly followed the Lipan boy. His young face was clouded with sorrow, but the only words that escaped him were,—
"Castro! Great chief of the Lipans! Gone! Red Wolf will strike the Comanches!"