But he kept Ned’s sympathy.

“He must save his people,” said the boy.

Obed and Potter said nothing.  At twilight they found the other men waiting for them in a thicket of mesquite, and the total, including the four, was only forty.  But with Texan daring and courage they made straight for Goliad, and Ned did not doubt that they would have a fight.  Life was now moving fast for him, and it was crowded with incident.

The troop in loose formation rode swiftly, but the hoofs of their horses made little sound on the prairie.  The southern moon rode low, and the night was clear.  They crossed two or three creeks, and also went through narrow belts of forest, but they never halted or hesitated.  Potter and several others knew the way well, and night was the same as day to them.

At midnight Ned saw a wide but shallow stream, much like the Guadalupe.  Trees and reeds lined its banks.  Potter informed him that this was the San Antonio River, and that they were now below the town of Goliad, where they meant to attack the Mexican force.

“And if Providence favors us,” said Potter, “we shall smite them quick and hard.”

“Providence favors those who hit first and hard,” said Obed, mixing various quotations.

The men forded the river, and, after a brief stop began to move cautiously through thickets of mesquite and chaparral toward the town, the lights of which they could not yet see.  At one point the mesquite became so thick that Ned, Obed and the Ring Tailed Panther dismounted, in order to pick their way and led their horses.

Ned, who was in advance, heard a noise, as of something moving in the thicket.  At first he thought it was a deer, but the sounds ceased suddenly, as if whatever made them were trying to seek safety in concealment rather than flight.  Ned’s experience had already made him skillful and daring.  The warrior’s instinct, born in him, was developing rapidly, and flinging his bridle to Obed he asked him to hold it for a moment.

Before the surprised man could ask why, Ned left him with the reins in his hand, cocked his rifle and crept through the mesquite toward the point whence the sounds had come.  He saw a stooping shadow, and then a man sprang up.  Quick as a flash Ned covered him with his rifle.

“Surrender!” he cried.

“Gladly,” cried the man, throwing up his hands and laughing in a hysterical way.  “I yield because you must be a Texan.  That cannot be the voice of any Mexican.”

Obed and the others came forward and the man strode toward them.  He was tall, but gaunt and worn, until he was not much more than a skeleton.  His clothing, mere rags, hung loosely on a figure that was now much too narrow for them.  Two bloodshot eyes burned in dark caverns.

“Thank God,” he cried, “you are Texans, all of you!”

“Why, it’s Ben Milam,” said Potter.  “We thought you were a prisoner at Monterey in Mexico.”