"We are to rejoin General Cos on
the Vera Cruz road, but that will not occur for two or three days.
Meanwhile, as the way is rough and you are pretty weak, you can ride on
a burro. Sorry I can't get you a horse, but our lancers have none to
spare. Still, you'll find a burro surer of foot and more comfortable
over the basalt and lava."
Ned thanked him for his courtesy. He liked this cheerful Mexican better
than ever. In another hour they started, turning into the Vera Cruz
road, and following often the path by which great Cortez had come. Ned's
burro, little but made of steel, picked the way with unerring foot and
never stumbled once. He rode in the midst of the lancers, who were full
that day of the Latin joy that came with the sun and the great panorama
of the Mexican uplands. Now and then they sang songs of the South,
sometimes Spanish and sometimes Indian, Aztec, or perhaps even Toltec.
Ned felt the influence. Once or twice he joined in the air without
knowing the words, and he would have been happy had it not been for his
thoughts of the Texans.
The courtesy and kindliness of Almonte must not blind him to the fact
that he was the bearer of a message to his own people. That message
could not be more important because its outcome was life and death, and
he watched all the time for a chance to escape.
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