“So be it,” answered the general. “Now, Jack,” he said to his bob-tailed pony, as he stripped him, “you and I must part. You have been a good and faithful servant to me, but, Jack, there comes a time in the life of every man when he and his friends must separate. You are a faithful pony. You are a hardy pony. You are a sure-footed pony. But cruel man has made you defenseless against the common enemy of your kind, the pesky fly. Where I am going they are very thick. The Almighty in His wisdom gave you a defense, but man has taken it from you, and without a tail you are helpless. I must therefore with pain and anguish part with you.” So saying, he changed the saddle and bridle to the larger horse, which had a fine long tail. “Houston,” spoke the third man, the United States marshal, “I’d like to give you some little keepsake before we separate, but I have nothing except my razor. Will you take it? I never saw a better one.” And he extracted it from his saddle-bag and extended it. “Major Rector,” proclaimed the general, much as if he were making a public speech, “I accept it. This is apparently a gift of little value, but it is an inestimable testimony of the friendship which has lasted many years, and proved steadfast under the blasts of calumny and injustice. Good-bye. God bless you. When next you see this razor it shall be shaving the President of a Republic.” “How are you fixed for money, Sam?” inquired Major Harris. “You may need some where you’re going.” “Money?” answered the general, solemnly. “Unfortunately, I am always in need of money.” “Then let me divide with you. I’ve more with me than I can use, and you can repay me at your leisure.” “Thank you,” acknowledged the general, pocketing what was proffered. “Remember my words, Harris, I shall yet be the president of a great republic. I shall bring that nation to the United States, and if they don’t watch me closely I shall be the President of the White House some day. Good-by.” And reining his horse around, he rode down one of the trails. He apparently had not noticed Mr. Carroll and Ernest. But the two other men, taking another trail, saluted civilly as they passed. “Well,” remarked the Texan, to Ernest, and gazing after the rapidly receding form of the general, “I reckon Sam Houston’s bound for Texas, all right. Didn’t I tell that steamboat captain and the rest of you that Houston would rise again? He’s made up his mind and nothing can stop him.” Thus speaking, the Texan touched his horse, and with Ernest rode onward into the south. That evening they half waded, half swam their horses, across a ford of a rapid river. On the farther bank Mr. Carroll raised his hat as if in a salute, and turned to Ernest with a smile. “Now you’re in Texas, lad,” he said. “That was the Red River.”