"I more than half believe him," said Breakstone in a whisper to the others. "It seems to me that sometimes he talks like a prophet," said John Bedford. "He is a prophet sometimes," said Bill Breakstone, "or at least he’s got second sight. Now he’s looking at that lake, but he doesn’t see it at all. He sees the Comanches, riding, riding, always riding toward this place, and maybe they have with them some one for whom he is looking. Maybe, and maybe not, but we’ll see, don’t you forget that, Phil, you and John, and somehow I’m thinking that he sees true." It rapidly grew colder, and they were glad enough, when they came back from hunting and scouting, to seek the shelter of the thatched hut in The Dip. There, while the coals glowed on the stone hearth that they had made, and the smoke passed out through the vent in the wall, they speculated much on what was passing far to the southward of them. The great battle at the mouth of the Pass of Angostura was still so vivid in the minds of Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg that they did not have to shut their eyes to see it again, and John often dreamed that he was still in the Castle of Montevideo, sitting by that deep loophole, looking out upon his mountain landscape. "I guess they’re closing in on the City of Mexico," said Bill Breakstone. "It’s in a rough and mountainous country, easy to defend, but after the battle of Buena Vista I don’t believe anything in Mexico can defeat our soldiers, no matter what the odds." "And Middleton is with them," said Phil. "I’d like to see the Captain again. He was a fine man." "Maybe we will," said Breakstone. "The West is a mighty big place, but there are not many white men in it, and when you shuffle them around some you are likely to meet them more than once." The next morning The Silver Cup had a cover, a beautiful clear cover of ice an eighth of an inch thick. The following morning the cover was a little thicker, and it thickened perceptibly every succeeding morning, until it would bear the weight of Phil or John. The trees were heavy with frost, and the wind sometimes blew so sharply from the mountain that they made rude ear-muffs of deerskin and helped out their clothing as skillfully as possible with skins and furs.