“Sh!” warned his mother; but it was too late. “That so?” queried Mr. Carroll of Captain Burnam. “Hadn’t heard. What about it?” And Ernest waited, breathless. “So’s the tell,” acknowledged Captain Burnam, slowly. “There was a party of traders massacred by the Karankawas, and a man by name of John Andrews, from the United States Army, was among ’em. He was a newcomer. They all were newcomers or they wouldn’t have been so careless.” Silence fell. “That’s sure too bad,” volunteered Jim Hill, to Ernest. “Maybe ’twasn’t your uncle. Did you know him well?” “No, I never saw him; but he was to take care of me,” faltered Ernest. “Well,” said Mr. Carroll, quickly, “don’t you mind, boy. You’re no worse off. I’d sort of adopted you, anyway. So you come along to Gonzales, and I’ll see you don’t suffer, you bet.” “Of course. Never mind. You stay with Dick Carroll and he’ll make a Texan of you,” spoke Mrs. Burnam. “Just forget your uncle and those Injuns.” Ernest gulped. “I guess I will,” he said. They all were trying to be so kind to him that he could not say anything else. And he did like Dick Carroll. James Monroe Hill left, after supper, to ride over to his home. He told Ernest he’d see him again; and he did. The start for the fifty-mile ride to Gonzales was made at daybreak, with the hospitable Burnam family waving good-by from the block-house. The winding trace led across numerous streams, and past several isolated ranches; and near sunset Dick Carroll again pointed before. “Gonzales――little old Gonzales,” he informed. “She’s the last of the white settlements, but she’s home, and it’s good to see her again.” They entered another straggling town, smaller than San Felipe. Dick exchanged greetings with the people whom he passed; he turned his horse and Ernest’s into the public corral, for the night, and led the way, through the dusk, for supper and bed in his own cabin, which was to be Ernest’s also. III SANTA ANNA PROVES FALSE Ernest awakened in the morning full of curiosity. While Dick Carroll was attending to some business matters, after breakfast, he himself had time to explore his new home. Gonzales was not much of a town, as yet, being smaller than San Felipe. However, it was lavishly laid out, six miles square, in blocks divided off by broad straight streets, which ran out into the open country, the majority indicated only by surveyor’s stakes and some indicated not at all. There were a Market Square, and a Military Plaza, and other public parks (as required by Mexican law); a hotel called Turner’s Inn; a sort of a fort, in case of Indian attacks; a store or two; and about twenty houses of logs and clapboards, and well scattered. On many of the squares there was only a single house; and on others none at all. The main residence section was the southwest corner of the tract, called the “inner” town. To north and east extended the “outer” town, sparsely occupied by ranches.