“I thank you, Colonel Almonte,” said Ned with a gravity beyond his years.  “You are a generous enemy, and chance may help me some day to return your kindness, but whatever treatment General Cos may accord me, I hope I shall be able to stand it.”

In another hour they saw a column of dust ahead of them.  The column grew and soon Ned saw lances and bayonets shining through it.  He knew that this was the army of Cos, and, just as the eastern light began to fade, they joined it.  Cos was going into camp by the side of a small stream, and, after a little delay, Almonte took the prisoner to him.

A large tent had been erected for General Cos, but he was sitting before it, eating his supper.  A cook was serving him with delicate dishes and another servant filled his glass with red wine.  His dark face darkened still further, as he looked at Ned, but he saluted Almonte courteously.  It was evident to Ned that through family or merit, probably both, Almonte stood very high in the Mexican service.

“I have the honor to report to you, General Cos,” said Almonte, “that we have retaken the young Texan who escaped through the bars of his prison at the capital.  We found him in the mountains overcome by exhaustion.”

General Cos’ lips opened in a slow, cold smile,—­an evil smile that struck a chill to Ned’s heart.  Here was a man far different from the gallant and gay young Almonte.  That cruel strain which he believed was in the depths of the Spanish character, dormant though it might usually be, was patent now in General Cos.  Moreover, this man was very powerful, and, as brother-in-law of Santa Anna, he was second only to the great dictator.  He did not ask Ned to sit down and he was brusque in speech.  The air about them grew distinctly colder.  Almonte had talked with Ned in English, but Cos spoke Spanish: 

“Why did you run away from the capital?” he asked, shortly.  “You were treated well there.”

“No man can be held in prison and be treated well.”

General Martin Perfecto de Cos frowned.  The bearing of the young Gringo did not please him.  Nor did his answer.

“I repeat my question,” he said, his voice rising.  “Why did you run like a criminal from the capital?  You were with the man Austin.  You, like he, were the guest of our great and illustrious Santa Anna who does no wrong.  Answer me, why did you slip away like a thief?”

“I slipped away, but it was not like a thief nor any other kind of criminal.  And if you must know, General Cos, I went because I did not believe the words of the great and illustrious Santa Anna.  He promises the Texans redress for their wrongs, and, at the same time, he orders them to give up their weapons.  Do you think, and does General Santa Anna think, that the Texans are fools?”

Despite all his study and thought, Ned Fulton was only a boy and he did not have the wisdom of the old.  The manner and words of General Cos had angered him, and, on impulse, he gave a direct reply.  But he knew at once that it was impolitic.  Cos’ eyes lowered, and his lips drew back like those of an angry jaguar, showing his strong white teeth.  There was no possible doubt now about that Spanish strain of cruelty.