Santa Anna took three or four rapid steps back and forth.  He kept his hat upon his head, a right, it seemed, due to his superiority to other people.  He looked like a man who had a great thought which he was shaping into quick words.  Presently he stopped before Austin, and shot him one of those piercing glances.

“My friend and guest,” he said in the sonorous Spanish.

Austin bowed.  Whether the subtle Mexican meant the words in satire or in earnest he did not know, nor did he care greatly.

“When I call you my friend and guest I speak truth,” said Santa Anna.  “It is true that we had you brought here from Saltillo, and we insist that you accept our continued hospitality, but it is because we know how devoted you are to our common Mexico, and we would have you here at our right hand for advice and help.”

Ned saw Mr. Austin smile a little sadly.  It all seemed very strange to the boy.  How could one talk of friendship and hospitality to those whom he held as prisoners?  Why could not these people say what they meant?  Again he longed for the free winds of the plains.

“You and I together should be able to quiet these troublesome Texans,” continued Santa Anna—­and his voice had a hard metallic quality that rasped the boy’s nerves.  “You know, Stephen Austin, that I and Mexico have endured much from the people whom you have brought within our borders.  They shed good Mexican blood at the fort, Velasco, and they have attacked us elsewhere.  They do not pay their taxes or obey our decrees, and when I send my officers to make them obey they take down their long rifles.”

Austin smiled again, and now the watching boy thought the smile was not sad at all.  If Santa Anna took notice he gave no sign.

“But you are reasonable,” continued the Mexican, and now his manner was winning to an extraordinary degree.  “It was my predecessor, Farias, who brought you here, but I would not see you go, because I love you like a brother, and now I have come to you, that between us we may calm your turbulent Texans.”

“But you must bear in mind,” said Austin, “that our rights have been taken from us.  All the clauses of our charter have been broken, and now your Congress has decreed that we shall have only one soldier to every five hundred inhabitants and that all the rest of us shall be disarmed.  How are we, in a wild country, to protect ourselves from the Comanches, Lipans and other Indians who roam everywhere, robbing and murdering?”

Austin’s face, usually so benevolent, flushed and his eyes were very bright.  Ned looked intently at Santa Anna to see how he would take the daring and truthful indictment.  But the Mexican showed no confusion, only astonishment.  He threw up his hands in a vivid southern gesture and looked at Austin in surprised reproof.

“My friend,” he said in injured but not angry tones, “how can you ask me such a question?  Am I not here to protect the Texans?  Am I not President of Mexico?  Am I not head of the Mexican army?  My gallant soldiers, my horsemen with their lances and sabers, will draw a ring around the Texans through which no Comanche or Lipan, however daring, will be able to break.”