"If they did it's all day with them," replied Cheyne, but Red Wolf did not at all understand him. He was just then, under Colonel Bowie's instructions, selecting for his own use the very best of the fine animals he had so daringly captured and brought to camp. The camp-fires were soon blazing, but little time could be given to breakfast. Their present position was too perilous. Parties of lancers would surely be out, and there were too many of them. Besides, there were the Comanches, and no man knew when or where they might make their appearance. It was bright morning when the little cavalcade, with its fine supply of extra horses, filed out from among the woods and went slowly northward. "I kind o' wish we were all back at the Alamo," remarked Joe. "We won't go in that direction jest yit," said Jim Cheyne. "We'd better ride clean across the continent." "Halt!" sprang from the lips of Colonel Bowie. "Here he comes! My God, boys! What's happened?" Not with his usual swiftly gliding step, but staggering and panting as if in pain, the old Tlascalan appeared at a little distance ahead of them. He was alone, and he motioned to them to stay where they were. "Find Comanche," suggested Red Wolf. Bowie was silent, but when the old man drew near enough he asked,-- "Did you sight the Lipans?" "All gone!" gasped Tetzcatl. "Castro?" "Gone!" came faintly back. "Great Bear's whole band. My mule! We must push on! They are crossing the Rio!" Bowie sprang to the ground and strode forward. "Man alive!" he said. "Where are you hurt? Tell us the rest of it while I fix you up. Jim, get that plaster and scissors out of my saddle-bags. We mustn't lose him just now." Off came the _serape_ from the old man's shoulders and an awful gash was discovered. His left arm told of an arrow, and there was a deep cut on his head. He was tough indeed to have carried all those hurts with him across the Rio Grande. "I'm surgeon enough," remarked the colonel. "I don't believe he can live, boys, but we must do the best we can. Put him on his mule." The wounds had been dressed with much care and skill, but the wounded man had hardly seemed to think of them. Briefly and clearly he told of his scouting beyond the river; of a meeting with Castro and then with the party of Lipans. There had been an attempt to rejoin the Texans, but in making it the entire force of Great Bear, called out by the return of the horse-thieves from the hacienda, had suddenly swarmed around them. Tetzcatl had escaped mainly because he was on foot, but a lance-thrust in the dark and the arrows that fell like snow had done their work upon him. Here he was now, to say as persistently as ever,-- "Gold! The treasure of Montezuma." "What do we care for gold just now?" grumbled Jim Cheyne. "I'm thinkin' of the ha'r on my head." Tetzcatl raised his uninjured arm, as he sat upon his mule, and pointed toward the hacienda.