“I think,” said Bowie, “that we’d better camp for the night in the clump of trees that served you two so well, and, before it’s dark, we’ll look around and see what spoil is to be had.”

They found three rifles that had been dropped by slain or wounded Lipans, and they were well pleased to get them, as rifles were about to become the most valuable of all articles in Texas.  They also recovered Ned and Obed’s horses, which the Indians had left in the valley, evidently expecting to take them away, when they secured the scalps of the two fugitives.

Ned, after the cold water and a little rest, fully recovered his strength and poise, but the men would not let him do any work, telling him that he had already done his share.  So he sat on his log and watched them as they prepared camp and supper.  Besides being the Texans and his own people, to whom he had come after the long journey of perils, they made a wonderful appeal.  These were the bold riders, the dauntless, the fearless.  He would not find here the pliancy, the cunning, the craft and the dark genius of Santa Anna, but he would find men who talked straight, who shot straight, and who feared nobody.

They were sixteen in number, and all were clad wholly in buckskin, with fur caps upon their heads.  They were heavily armed, every man carrying at least a rifle, a pistol, and a formidable knife, invented by Bowie.  All were powerful physically, and every face had been darkened by the sun.  Ned felt that such a group as this was a match for a hundred Mexicans or Lipans.

They worked dextrously and rapidly, unsaddling their horses and tethering them where they could graze in the open, drawing up the dead wood until it made a heap which was quickly lighted, and then cooking strips of venison over the coals.  There was so much life, so much cheerfulness, and so much assurance of strength and invincibility that Ned began to feel as if he did not have a care left.  All the men already called him Ned, and he felt that every one of them was his friend.

Karnes put a strip of venison on the sharp end of a stick, and broiled it over the blaze.  It gave out a singularly appetizing odor, and when it was done he extended it to the boy.

“Here, Ned,” he said, “take this on the end of your knife and eat it.  I’ll wager that you haven’t had any good warm victuals for a week, and it will taste mighty well.”

Ned ate it and asked for more.  He would have done his own cooking, but they would not let him.  They seemed to take a pleasure in helping him, and, used as they were to hardships and danger, they admired all the more the tenacity and courage that had brought a boy so far.

“We can promise you one thing, Ned,” said “Deaf” Smith.  “We’ll see that you and Obed have a full night’s good sleep and I guess you’ll like that about as much as a big supper.”

“We certainly will,” said Obed.  “Sleep has got a lot of knitting to do in my case.”