Ned thanked him for his courtesy.  He liked this cheerful Mexican better than ever.  In another hour they started, turning into the Vera Cruz road, and following often the path by which great Cortez had come.  Ned’s burro, little but made of steel, picked the way with unerring foot and never stumbled once.  He rode in the midst of the lancers, who were full that day of the Latin joy that came with the sun and the great panorama of the Mexican uplands.  Now and then they sang songs of the South, sometimes Spanish and sometimes Indian, Aztec, or perhaps even Toltec.  Ned felt the influence.  Once or twice he joined in the air without knowing the words, and he would have been happy had it not been for his thoughts of the Texans.

The courtesy and kindliness of Almonte must not blind him to the fact that he was the bearer of a message to his own people.  That message could not be more important because its outcome was life and death, and he watched all the time for a chance to escape.  None occurred.  The lancers were always about him, and even if there were an opening his burro, sure of foot though he might be, could not escape their strong horses.  So he bided his time, for the present, and shared in the gayety of the men who rode through the crisp and brilliant southern air.  All the time they ascended, and Ned saw far below him valley after valley, much the same, at the distance, as they were when Cortez and his men first gazed upon them more than three hundred years before.  Yet the look of the land was always different from that to which he was used north of the Rio Grande.  Here as in the great valley of Tenochtitlan it seemed ancient, old, old beyond all computation.  Here and there, were ruins of which the Mexican peons knew nothing.  Sometimes these ruins stood out on a bare slope, and again they were almost hidden by vegetation.  In the valleys Ned saw peons at work with a crooked stick as a plow, and once or twice they passed swarthy Aztec women cooking tortillas and frijoles in the open air.

The troop could not advance very rapidly owing to the roughness of the way, and Ned learned from the talk about him that they would not overtake Cos until the evening of the following day.  About twilight they encamped in a slight depression in the mountain side.  No tents were set, but a large fire was built, partly of dry stems of the giant cactus.  The cactus burned rapidly with a light, sparkling blaze, and left a white ash, but the heavier wood, mixed with it, made a bed of coals that glowed long in the darkness.

Ned sat beside the fire on his serape with another thrown over his shoulders, as the night was growing very chill with a sharp wind whistling down from the mountains.  The kindness of his captors did not decrease, and he found a genuine pleasure in the human companionship and physical comfort.  Almonte found a comfortable place, took a guitar out of a silken case, and hummed and played a love song.  No American officer would have done it at such a time and place, but it seemed natural in him.