They were evidently in high good
humor, as they laughed frequently.
Ned lay down just within the shadow of a tent wall, drew his serape
higher about his face, and rested his head upon his arm. He would have
seemed sound asleep to an ordinary observer, but he was never more wide
awake in his life. He was near enough to hear what Urrea and his friends
were saying, and he intended to hear it. It was for such that he had
come.
"You lose, Francisco," said one of the men as he made a throw of the
dice and looked eagerly at the result. "What was it that you were saying
about the general?"
"That I expect an early advance, Ramon," replied Urrea, "a brief
campaign, and a complete victory. I hate these Texans. I shall be glad
to see them annihilated."
The young officer whom he called Ramon laughed.
"If what I hear be true, Francisco," he said, "you have cause to hate
them. There was a boy, Fulton, that wild buffalo of a man, whom they
call the Panther, and another who defeated some of your finest plans."
Urrea flushed, but controlled his temper.
"It is true, Ramon," he replied. "The third man I can tell you is called
Obed White, and they are a clever three. I hate them, but it hurts my
pride less to be defeated by them than by any others whom I know.
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