Without stopping to ask any more questions George seized the man’s hat, and hastening to the bayou presently returned with the crown filled with water. The wounded raider drank eagerly and sank back against his tree with a sigh of great satisfaction. CHAPTER XIII. GEORGE HAS COMPANY. George knew Springer well. The latter had once been in his father’s employ; but being of no use as a herdsman or anything else, he had been discharged, to make room for a more industrious and pains-taking man. This enraged Springer, who threatened vengeance, and followed up his threats by attempting to fire the rancho. He had been detected in the act and almost captured; but he succeeded in making his escape, and since then George had never met him until this particular day. He had often heard of him, however, as a member of a band of cattle-thieves, who now and then made a raid through the country farther down the river. There were a good many others just like Springer, on the opposite side of the Rio Grande—renegade Americans—who, having left their country for their country’s good, had taken refuge among the Mexicans, and joined with them in raiding upon the well-stocked farms and ranches of their Texan neighbors. [Illustration: GEORGE RETURNS GOOD FOR EVIL.] “You needn’t be afeared, George,” repeated Springer, seeing that the boy cast uneasy glances about him, as if half expecting to see the rest of the band start up from some ambush among the willows. “Thar’s nobody here but me.” “Where are your friends?” asked George. “They’ve gone on, an’ I s’pose they’re acrosst the river by this time.” “Did they leave you here to take care of yourself?” inquired George, who found it difficult to believe that men could be so heartless. “What else could they do?” asked Springer, wincing a little, as he tried to move one of his wounded legs into a more comfortable position. “A man who is fool enough to get hurt, must take his chances. If he can keep up with the rest, well an’ good; if he can’t, he must fall behind an’ look out fur himself. I’m glad I ain’t in the settlement. I’d rather stay here an’ starve, fur want of grub an’ water, than have the ranchemen catch me. I ain’t had a bite to eat fur two days.” “You haven’t!” exclaimed George. “I’ll divide with you.” He opened his haversack, as he spoke, and producing from its capacious depths a goodly supply of bacon and cracker, placed it in the hands of the wounded man, whose eyes brightened as he received it. George stood by and saw him eat it, and was glad to see that he enjoyed it, although he knew that by thus diminishing his store he put himself in a fair way to go hungry for many a weary mile of his journey. The man was a scoundrel—no one except himself could tell what deeds of violence he had been guilty of during his raids—but for all that George was glad that it was in his power to relieve his distress.