



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Free Lances, by Captain Mayne Reid.



CHAPTER ONE.

VOLUNTEERS FOR TEXAS.

"I'll go!"

This laconism came from the lips of a young man who was walking along
the Levee of New Orleans.  Just before giving utterance to it he had
made a sudden stop, facing a dead wall, enlivened, however, by a large
poster, on which were printed, in conspicuous letters, the words--

"Volunteers for Texas!"

Underneath, in smaller type, was a proclamation, setting forth the
treachery of Santa Anna and the whole Mexican nation, recalling in
strong terms the Massacre of Fanning, the butchery of Alamo, and other
like atrocities; ending in an appeal to all patriots and lovers of
freedom to arm, take the field, and fight against the tyrant of Mexico
and his myrmidons.

"I'll go!" said the young man, after a glance given to the printed
statement; then, more deliberately re-reading it, he repeated the words
with an emphasis that told of his being in earnest.

The poster also gave intimation of a meeting to be held the same evening
at a certain _rendezvous_ in Poydras Street.

He who read only lingered to make note of the address, which was the
name of a noted _cafe_.  Having done this, he was turning to continue
his walk when his path was barred by a specimen of humanity, who stood
full six foot six in a pair of alligator leather boots, on the
_banquette_ by his side, "So ye're goin', air ye?" was the
half-interrogative speech that proceeded from the individual thus
confronting him.

"What's that to you?" bluntly demanded the young fellow, his temper a
little ruffled by what appeared an impertinent obstruction on the part
of some swaggering bully.

"More'n you may think for, young 'un," answered the booted Colossus,
still standing square in the way; "more'n you may think for, seein' it's
through me that bit o' paper's been put up on that 'ere wall."

"You're a bill-sticker, I suppose?" sneeringly retorted the "young 'un."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the giant, with a cachinnation that resembled the
neighing of a horse.  "A bill-sticker, eh!  Wal; I likes that.  An' I
likes yur grit, too, young feller, for all ye are so sassy.  But ye
needn't git riled, an' I reckon ye won't, when I tell ye who I am."

"And who are you; pray?"

"Maybe ye mount a hearn o' Cris Rock?"

"What!  Cris Rock of Texas?  He who at Fanning's--"

"At Fannin's massacree war shot dead, and kim alive agin."

"Yes," said the interrogator, whose interrogatory referred to the almost
miraculous escape of one of the betrayed victims of the Goliad butchery.

"Jess so, young feller.  An' since ye 'pear to know somethin' 'bout me,
I needn't tell ye I ain't no _bill-sticker_, nor why I 'peared to show
impartinence by putting in my jaw when I heern ye sing out, `I'll go.'
I thort it wouldn't need much introduxshun to one as I mout soon hope to
call kumarade.  Yer comin' to the rendyvoo the night, ain't ye?"

"Yes; I intend doing so."

"Wal, I'll be there myself; an' if ye'll only look high enough, I reck'n
ye kin sight me '<DW41> the crowd.  'Tain't like to be the shortest thar,"
he added, with a smile that bespoke pride in his superior stature, "tho'
ye'll see some tall 'uns too.  Anyhow, jest look out for Cris Rock; and,
when foun', that chile may be of some sarvice to ye."

"I shall do so," rejoined the other, whose good humour had become quite
restored.

About to bid good-bye, Rock held out a hand, broad as the blade of a
canoe-paddle.  It was freely taken by the stranger, who, while shaking
it, saw that he was being examined from head to foot.

"Look hyar!" pursued the Colossus, as if struck by some thought which a
closer scrutiny of the young man's person had suggested; "hev ye ever
did any sogerin'?  Ye've got the look o' it."

"I was educated in a military school--that's all."

"Where?  In the States?"

"No.  I am