Doubtless the Mexicans would have turned, had it not been for the smallness of the force opposed to them, but they came on rapidly in a long line, still shouting and brandishing their weapons.  Ned saw the flaming eyes of the horses, and he marked the foam upon their jaws.  For what was Bowie waiting!  Nearer they came, and the beat of the hoofs thundered in his ears.  It seemed that the flashing steel of the lances was at his throat.  He had already raised his rifle and was taking aim at the man in front of him, all his nerves now taut for the conflict.

“Fire!” cried Bowie, and sixteen rifles were discharged as one.

Not a bullet went astray.  The Mexican line was split asunder, and horses and men went down in a mass.  A few, horses and men, rose, and ran across the plain.  But the wings of the Mexican force closed in, and continued the charge, expecting victory, now that the rifles were empty.  But they forgot the pistols.  Ned snatched his from the holster, and fired directly into the evil face of a lancer who was about to crash into him.  The Mexican fell to the ground and his horse, swerving to one side, galloped on.

The pistols cracked all around Ned, and then, the Mexicans, sheering off, fled as rapidly as they had charged.  But they left several behind who would never charge again.

“All right, Ned?” said the cheery voice of Obed.

“Not hurt at all,” replied the boy.  But as he spoke he gazed down at the face of the man who had tried to crash into him, and he shuddered.  He knew that face.  At the first glance it had seemed familiar, and at the second he had remembered perfectly.  It was the face of the man who had struck him with the butt of a lance on that march in Mexico, when he was the prisoner of Cos.  It seemed a vengeance dealt out by the hand of fate.  He who had received the blow had given it in return, although not knowing at the time.  Ned recognized the justice of fate, but he did not rejoice.  Nor did he speak of the coincidence to anyone.  It was not a thing of which he wished to talk.

“They’re gone,” said the Ring Tailed Panther, speaking now in satisfied tones.  “They came, they stayed half a minute, an’ then they went, but there was some rippin’ an tearin’ an’ chawin’.”

“Yes, they’ve gone, and they’ve gone to stay,” said Bowie.  “It was a foolish thing to do to charge Texans armed with rifles on the open prairie.”

Ned was looking at the last Mexican as he disappeared over the plain.

CHAPTER XVII

THE OLD CONVENT

The Texans gathered up the arms of the fallen Mexicans, except the lances for which they had no use, finding several good rifles and a number of pistols of improved make which were likely to prove of great value, and then they rode on as briskly as if nothing had happened.