He sighed heavily.  Ned, full of sympathy, glanced at him but said nothing.  Then his gaze turned back to the mighty peaks which stood so sharp and clear against the blue.  Truth and honesty were the most marked qualities of Stephen Austin and he could not understand the vast web of intrigue in which the Mexican capital was continually involved.  And to the young mind of the boy, cast in the same mold, it was yet more baffling and repellent.

Ned still stared at the guardian peaks, but his thoughts floated away from them.  His head had been full of old romance when he entered the vale of Tenochtitlan.  He had almost seen Cortez and the conquistadores in their visible forms with their armor clanking about them as they stalked before him.  He had gazed eagerly upon the lakes, the mighty mountains, the low houses and the strange people.  Here, deeds of which the world still talked had been done centuries ago and his thrill was strong and long.  But the feeling was gone now.  He had liked many of the Mexicans and many of the Mexican traits, but he had felt with increasing force that he could never reach out his hand and touch anything solid.  He thought of volcanic beings on a volcanic soil.

The throb of a drum came from the street below, and presently the shrill sound of fifes was mingled with the steady beat.  Ned stood up and pressed his head as far forward as the bars of the window would let him.

“Soldiers, a regiment, I think,” he said.  “Ah, I can see them now!  What brilliant uniforms their officers wear!”

Austin also looked out.

“Yes,” he said.  “They know how to dress for effect.  And their music is good, too.  Listen how they play.”

It was a martial air, given with a splendid lilt and swing.  The tune crept into Ned’s blood and his hand beat time on the stone sill.  But the music increased his longing for liberty.  His thoughts passed away from the narrow street and the marching regiment to the North, to the wild free plains beyond the Rio Grande.  It was there that his heart was, and it was there that his body would be.

“It is General Cos who leads them,” said Austin.  “I can see him now, riding upon a white horse.  It’s the man in the white and silver uniform, Ned.”

“He’s the brother-in-law of Santa Anna, is he not?”

“Yes, and I fear him.  I know well, Ned, that he hates the Texans—­all of us.”

“Perhaps the regiment that we see now is going north against our people.”

Austin’s brows contracted.

“It may be so,” he said.  “They give soft words all the time, and yet they hold me a prisoner here.  It would be like them to strike while pretending to clear away all the troubles between us.”

He sighed again.  Ned watched the soldiers until the last of them had passed the window, and then he listened to the music, the sound of drum and fife, until it died away, and they heard only the usual murmur of the city.  Then the homesickness, the longing for the great free country to the north grew upon him and became almost overpowering.