he carelessness of the Mexicans. I heard the man call you
William Allen. My name is Fulton, Edward Fulton, Ned to my friends."

"And mine's Will to my friends."

"And you and I are going to be friends, that's sure."

"Nothing can be surer."

The hands of the two boys met in a strong grasp, signifying a friendship
that was destined to endure.

The Panther and Obed now began to seek a place for a camp. They knew
that too much haste would mean a breakdown, and they meant that the
people whom they had rescued should have a rest. But it took a long time
to find the trees which would furnish wood and partial shelter. It was
Obed who made the happy discovery some time after midnight. Turning to
their left, they entered a grove of dwarf oaks, covering a half acre or
so, and with much labor and striving built a fire. They made it a big
fire, too, and fed it until the flames roared and danced. Ned noticed
that all the rescued prisoners crouched close to it, as if it were a
giver of strength and courage as well as warmth, and now the light
revealed their faces. He looked first at the crippled man, and the
surprise that he had felt at his first glimpse of him increased.

The stranger was of a type uncommon on the border. His large features
showed cultivation and the signs of habitual and deep thought. His thick
white hair surmounted a broad brow. His clothing, although torn by
thorns and briars, was of fine quality. Ned knew instinctively that it
was a powerful face, one that seldom showed the emotions behind it. The
rest, except the boy, were of the border, lean, sun-browned men,
dressed in tanned deerskin.

The Panther and Obed also gazed at the crippled man with great
curiosity. They knew the difference, and they were surprised to find
such a man in such a situation. He did not seem to notice them at first,
but from his seat on a log leaned over the fire warming his hands, which
Ned saw were large, white and smooth. His legs lay loosely against the
log, as if he were suffering from a species of paralysis. The others,
soaked by the rain, which, however, now ceased, were also hovering over
the fire which was giving new life to the blood in their veins. The man
with the white hands turned presently and, speaking to Ned, Obed and the
Panther, said:

"My name is Roylston, John Roylston."

Ned started.

"I see that you have heard of it," continued the stranger, but without
vanity. "Yes, I am the merchant of New Orleans. I