f forest, but they never halted or hesitated. Potter and
several others knew the way well, and night was the same as day to
them.

At midnight Ned saw a wide but shallow stream, much like the Guadalupe.
Trees and reeds lined its banks. Potter informed him that this was the
San Antonio River, and that they were now below the town of Goliad,
where they meant to attack the Mexican force.

"And if Providence favors us," said Potter, "we shall smite them quick
and hard."

"Providence favors those who hit first and hard," said Obed, mixing
various quotations.

The men forded the river, and, after a brief stop began to move
cautiously through thickets of mesquite and chaparral toward the town,
the lights of which they could not yet see. At one point the mesquite
became so thick that Ned, Obed and the Ring Tailed Panther dismounted,
in order to pick their way and led their horses.

Ned, who was in advance, heard a noise, as of something moving in the
thicket. At first he thought it was a deer, but the sounds ceased
suddenly, as if whatever made them were trying to seek safety in
concealment rather than flight. Ned's experience had already made him
skillful and daring. The warrior's instinct, born in him, was developing
rapidly, and flinging his bridle to Obed he asked him to hold it for a
moment.

Before the surprised man could ask why, Ned left him with the reins in
his hand, cocked his rifle and crept through the mesquite toward the
point whence the sounds had come. He saw a stooping shadow, and then a
man sprang up. Quick as a flash Ned covered him with his rifle.

"Surrender!" he cried.

"Gladly," cried the man, throwing up his hands and laughing in a
hysterical way. "I yield because you must be a Texan. That cannot be the
voice of any Mexican."

Obed and the others came forward and the man strode toward them. He was
tall, but gaunt and worn, until he was not much more than a skeleton.
His clothing, mere rags, hung loosely on a figure that was now much too
narrow for them. Two bloodshot eyes burned in dark caverns.

"Thank God," he cried, "you are Texans, all of you!"

"Why, it's Ben Milam," said Potter. "We thought you were a prisoner at
Monterey in Mexico."

"I was," replied Milam, one of the Texan leaders, "but I escaped and
obtained a horse. I have ridden nearly seven hundred miles day and
night. My horse dropped dead down there in the chaparral and I've been
here, trying to take a look at Goliad, uncert