To occupy his time he took a brisk walk into the city, and reached the Alamo Plaza before he knew where he was. Then, suddenly, he realized; for, half-hidden by a great ugly wooden building, used as a grocery-store, he discovered an antiquated, half-ruinous little structure of stone and stucco that he instantly recognized, from having seen it pictured over and over again. It was the world-renowned Alamo, one of the most famous monuments to liberty in America; and, hastening across the plaza, Ridge stood reverently before it, thrilled with the memory of Crockett and Bowie, Travis and Bonham, who, more than half a century before, together with their immediate band of heroes, here yielded up their lives that Texas might be free. Ridge was well read in the history of the Lone Star State, and now he strove to picture to himself the glorious tragedy upon which those grim walls had looked. As he thus stood, oblivious to his surroundings, he was recalled to them by a voice close at hand, saying, as though in soliloquy: "What a shame that so sacred a monument should be degraded by the vulgarity of its environment!" "Is it not?" replied Ridge, turning towards the speaker. The latter was a squarely built man, about forty years of age, with a face expressive of intense determination, which at the moment was partially hidden by a slouch hat pulled down over the forehead, and a pair of spectacles. He was clad in brown canvas, very much as was Ridge himself; but except for facings of blue on collar and sleeve be wore no distinctive mark of rank. For a few minutes the two talked of the Alamo and all that it represented. Then the stranger asked, abruptly, "Do you belong to the Rough Riders?" "No," replied Ridge, "but I hope to. I am going to make application to join them to-morrow, or rather I believe a friend is making it for me this evening. Are you one of them, sir?" "Yes, though I have not yet joined. In fact, I have only just reached San Antonio." "So have I," said Ridge. "I came in on the Eastern train less than an hour ago." "Strange that I did not see you," remarked the other. "Were you in the Pullman?" "No, I was in a private car." "I noticed that there was one, though I did not know to whom it belonged. Is it yours?" "Oh no!" laughed Ridge. "I am far too poor to own anything so luxurious. It belongs to my friend, Mr. Roland Van Kyp, of New York." "Sometimes called Rollo?" "Yes; do you know him?" "I have met him. Is he the one who is to use his influence in your behalf?" "Yes." "Can you ride a horse?" "I have ridden," rejoined Ridge, modestly. "Where?" "In many places. The last was Japan, where I won the silver hurdles of the Yokohama gymkana." "Indeed! And your name is--" "Ridge Norris," replied the young man. "I have heard the name, and am glad to know you, Mr. Norris. Now I must bid you good-evening. Hope we shall meet again, and trust you may be successful in joining our regiment."