Besides his spurs Ned carried three other ornaments—an ivory-handled riding-whip, a breech-loading rifle and a silver-mounted hunting-knife. He expected with that rifle to make sad havoc among the big game which was so abundant in some parts of Texas, but thus far he had not shot a single thing with it. He knew nothing about rifles, and besides the weapon threw a bullet that was altogether too small to possess any killing power. His cousin had told him that it might answer for shooting hummingbirds and ground-squirrels, but that nothing larger need be afraid of it. George had knocked over a jack-rabbit with it, and the rabbit had jumped up and made off as though there was nothing the matter with him, carrying the bullet somewhere in his body. The elegant hunting-knife was intended for skinning the game that fell to his rifle, but up to this time Ned had found no use for it. Ned looked as formidable as usual when he mounted his horse that morning and rode away to meet the first adventure that had befallen him in Texas—the first one worthy of record of which he had ever been the hero. He made his way directly to the top of the swell of which we have spoken, and after staking out his horse threw himself on his blanket under the shade of the solitary oak that grew beside the trail, and comfortably settled himself to idle away the time and watch for his long-expected friend. “If he ever reaches Palos he will have no difficulty in coming the rest of the way,” thought Ned. “The people from this part of the country always put up at one hotel, and the landlord will know whether or not there are any of our herdsmen or neighbors in the town. It is the fear that Gus may not be able to leave Foxboro’ that troubles me just at present. If anything should happen to keep him at home, wouldn’t we be a couple of disappointed boys, though? I don’t believe I could stand it. Hallo! What’s that?” Just then a moving object in the horizon caught Ned’s eye. He straightened up and looked at it, and presently made out that the moving object was a horseman. He was coming along the trail toward the swell, and coming rapidly, too. Ned looked at him for a few minutes and then settled back on his elbow with an exclamation indicative of great disappointment. “It can’t be Gus,” said he to himself, “for Gus could never find his way here from Palos alone. It is one of the settlers, probably. I hope he has brought some mail for us.” Ned placed his hands under his head and watched the horseman’s movements, without feeling any particular interest in them, until he saw him draw rein and come to a sudden stand-still. He had just caught sight of Ned’s horse. He sat motionless in his saddle, gazing earnestly toward the top of the swell and evidently undecided whether to advance or retreat.