“Was goin’ home to Bejar after a leetle hunt [he said]. Hadn’t heard ’special about this scrimmage. Know everybody in Bejar, anyhow. Met up with a Mexican camp. They signed me friendly to come in. So I rides on unsuspectin’. When I got right near they all begun shootin’ at me. Never teched me. Dirty trick. Wuss’n Injuns. Made me mad. So hyar I be. Ready to sarve. Fam’ly in Bejar yet, though. Got to get ’em out.”
“Bully for you! That’s the spirit!” they praised. No recruit could be of greater value, for “Deaf” Smith, the lone hunter, was as brave as a bulldog and as cunning as a fox. He could “out-Injun” the Indians themselves. And he knew every foot of the country and every inch of Bejar.
General Austin immediately made him chief independent scout.
On the morning after Deaf Smith’s arrival in such a huff Ernest heard himself hailed as he was returning from washing his one extra pair of socks in the creek. The voice was that of Sergeant Brown, who held a piece of paper in his hand.
“The lieutenant’s got you down on a detail this mawnin’,” drawled the sergeant. “You get youah hawss an’ gun, an’ report to Majuh Somervell, over yonduh.”
“What is it? A scout?” queried Ernest, joyed.
“No. Deaf Smith’s heard from his fam’ly, an’ I reckon you’re goin’ out to escort ’em in.”
Camp life had been rather dull, save for the scouting parties constantly trotting out and trotting in; Jim and Leo both had been off on details for outpost duties――Leo even had met the enemy――and Ernest felt that it was high time he was given a chance. He grabbed his little rifle, saddled and bridled in a jiffy, and on his yellow pony loped hastily across the camp-ground to where Major Somervell was sitting his horse amidst a small group of other horsemen. Deaf Smith also was there. And Dick Carroll.
“I am ordered to report to you for duty, sir,” said Ernest, saluting and trying not to grin.
The major surveyed him quizzically and scratched his nose.
“Well,” he remarked, “if Dickinson can spare you. They must grow soldiers young, in that company of his.”
“Oh, he’s a Texan, all right,” spoke somebody――Dick Carroll. “He’s the boy who carried that message from Gonzales to Burnam’s.”
“Yes, and he can shoot as hard as General Jackson, I bet you,” added somebody else.