“You speak the great truth, Carlos.  Such another march I never wish to make.  Think of the hundreds and hundreds of miles we have tramped from our warm lands far in the south across mountains, across bare and windy deserts, with the ice and the snow beating in our faces.  How I shivered, Carlos, and how long I shivered!  I thought I should continue shivering all my life even if I lived to be a hundred, no matter how warmly the sun might shine.”

The others laughed, and seemed to Ned to snuggle a little closer to the fire, driven by the memory of the icy plains.

“But it was the will of the great Santa Anna, surely the mightiest man of our age,” said Carlos.  “They say that his wrath was terrible when he heard how the Texan bandits had taken San Antonio de Bexar.  Truly, I am glad that I was not one of his officers, and that I was not in his presence at the time.  After all, it is sometimes better to be a common soldier than to have command.”

“Aye, truly,” said Ned, and the others nodded in affirmation.

“But the great Santa Anna will finish it,” continued Carlos, who seemed to have the sin of garrulity.  “He has defeated all his enemies in Mexico, he has consolidated his power and now he advances with a mighty force to crush these insolent and miserable Texans.  As I have said, he will finish it.  The rope and the bullet will be busy.  In six months there will be no Texans.”

Ned shivered, and when he looked at the camp fires of the great army he saw that this peon was not talking foolishness.  Nevertheless his mind returned to its original point of interest.  Why did the Mexican army remain awake so late?

“Have you seen the President?” he asked of Carlos.

“Often,” replied Carlos, with pride.  “I fought under him in the great battle on the plain of Guadalupe less than two years ago, when we defeated Don Francisco Garcia, the governor of Zacatecas.  Ah, it was a terrible battle, my friends!  Thousands and thousands were killed and all Mexicans.  Mexicans killing Mexicans.  But who can prevail against the great Santa Anna?  He routed the forces of Garcia, and the City of Zacatecas was given up to us to pillage.  Many fine things I took that day from the houses of those who presumed to help the enemy of our leader.  But now we care not to kill Mexicans, our own people.  It is only the miserable Texans who are really Gringos.”

Carlos, who had been the most amiable of men, basking in the firelight, now rose up a little and his eyes flashed.  He had excited himself by his own tale of the battle and loot of Zacatecas and the coming slaughter of the Texans.  That strain of cruelty, which in Ned’s opinion always lay embedded in the Spanish character, was coming to the surface.

Ned made no comment.  His serape, drawn up to his nose, almost met the brim of his sombrero and nobody suspected that the comrade who sat and chatted with them was a Gringo, but he shivered again, nevertheless.