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.