Urrea smiled pleasantly at Ned’s boyish enthusiasm.

“And they are great men, too,” he said, “Bowie, Smith and Karnes.  I should not want any one of them to send his bullet at me.”

“Jim Bowie is best with the knife,” said the Ring Tailed Panther, “but I guess no better shots than ‘Deaf’ Smith and Hank Karnes were ever born.”

“A horseman is coming,” said Ned who was in advance.  The boy had shaded his eyes from the sun, and his uncommonly keen sight had detected the black moving speck before any of the others could see it.

“It’s sure to be a Texan,” said Obed.  “You won’t find any Mexican riding alone on these plains just now.”

They rode forward to meet him and the horseman, who evidently had keen eyes, too, came forward with equal confidence.  It soon became obvious that he was a Texan as Obed had predicted.  His length of limb and body showed despite the fact that he was on horseback, and the long rifle that he carried across the saddle bow was of the frontier type.

“My name is Jim Potter,” he said as he came within hailing distance.

“You’re welcome, Jim Potter,” said the Ring Tailed Panther.  “The long, red-headed man here on my right is Obed White, the boy is Ned Fulton; our young Mexican friend, who is a good Texan patriot, is Don Francisco Urrea, an’ as for me, I’m Martin Palmer, better an’ more properly known as the Ring Tailed Panther.”

“I’ve heard of you, Panther,” said Potter, “and you and your friends are just the people I want.”

He spoke with great eagerness, and the soul of the Ring Tailed Panther, foreseeing an impending crisis of some kind, responded.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A crowd is gathering to march on Goliad,” replied Potter.  “The Mexican commander there is treating the people with great cruelty and he is sending out parties to harass lone Texan homes.  We mean to smite him.”

Potter spoke with a certain solemnity of manner and he had the lean, ascetic face of the Puritan.  Ned judged that he was from one of the Northern States of New England, but Obed, a Maine man, was sure of it.

“Friend,” said Obed, “from which state do you come, New Hampshire or Vermont?  I take it that it is Vermont.”

“It is Vermont as you rightly surmise,” replied Potter, “and the accent with which you speak, if I mistake not is found only in Maine.”

“A good guess, also,” said Obed, “but we are both now Texans, heart and soul; is it not so?”

“It is even so,” replied Potter gravely.  Then he and Obed reached across from their horses and gave each other a powerful clasp.

“You will go with us to Goliad and help smite the heathen?” said Potter.

Obed glanced at his comrades, and all of them nodded.

“We were riding to San Antonio,” said the Maine man, “to find out what was going on there, but I see no reason why we should not turn aside to help you, since we seem to be needed.”