Ned's burro, little but made of steel, picked the way with unerring foot and never stumbled once.

He rode in the midst of the lancers, who were full that day of the Latin joy that came with the sun and the great panorama of the Mexican uplands.

Now and then they sang songs of the South, sometimes Spanish and sometimes Indian, Aztec, or perhaps even Toltec.
Ned felt the influence.

Once or twice he joined in the air without knowing the words, and he would have been happy had it not been for his thoughts of the Texans.
The courtesy and kindliness of Almonte must not blind him to the fact that he was the bearer of a message to his own people.

That message could not be more important because its outcome was life and death, and he watched all the time for a chance to escape.