d river. They rode through noble groves of oak and tall pecans. They
saw many fine springs spouting from the earth, and emptying into river
and creek.

It was a noble land, but, although it had been settled long by Spaniard
and Mexican, the wilderness still endured in many of its aspects. Now
and then a deer sprang up from the thickets, and the wild turkeys still
roosted in the trees. Churches and other buildings, many of massive
stone adorned with carved and costly marbles, extended ten or twelve
miles down the river, but most of them were abandoned and in decay. The
Comanche and his savage brother, the Apache, had raided to the very
gates of San Antonio. The deep irrigation ditches, dug by the Spanish
priests and their Indian converts, were abandoned, and mud and refuse
were fast filling them up. Already an old civilization, sunk in decay,
was ready to give place to another, rude and raw, but full of youth and
vigor.

It was likely that Ned alone felt these truths, as they reached the
lowest outskirts of the missions, and stopped at an abandoned stone
convent, built at the very edge of the San Antonio, where the waters of
the river, green and clear, flowed between banks clothed in a deep and
luxuriant foliage. Half of the troop entered the convent, while the
others watched on the horses outside. It impressed Ned with a sense of
desolation fully equal to that of the ancient pyramid or the lost city.
Everything of value that the nuns had not taken away had been stripped
from the place by Comanche, Apache or Lipan.

It was nearly night when they arrived at the convent. The Texan camp
still lay some miles away, their horses were very tired, and Bowie
decided to remain in the ruined building until morning. The main portion
of the structure was of stone, two stories high, but there were some
extensions of wood, from one of which the floor had been taken away by
plunderers. It was Ned who discovered this floorless room and he
suggested that they lead the horses into it, especially as the night was
turning quite cold, and there were signs of rain.

"A good thought," said Bowie. "We'll do it."

The horses made some trouble at the door, but when they were finally
driven in, and unsaddled and unbridled they seemed content. Two windows,
from which the glass was long since gone, admitted an abundance of air,
and Ned and several others, taking their big bowie knives, went out to
cut grass for them.

On foot, Ned was impresse