barber can do that for me. My hair has been growing for more than three
months, Uncle Steve, and you've seen how extremely thick it is. Now it
is so long, too, that it's falling all about my eyes. Its weight is
oppressing my brain. I feel a little touch of fever now and then, and I
believe it's this awful hair."

He ran his fingers through the heavy locks until his head seemed to be
surrounded with a defense like the quills of a porcupine. Beneath the
great bush of hair his gray eyes glowed in a pale, thin face.

"There is a lot of it," said Mr. Austin, surveying him critically, "but
it is not usual for anybody in our situation to be worrying about the
length and abundance of his hair."

"I'm sure I'd be a lot better if I could get it cut close."

"Well, well, if you are taking it so much to heart we'll see what can be
done. You are ill and wasted, Edward, and when one is in that condition
a little thing can affect his spirits. De Zavala is a friendly sort of
young fellow and through him we will send a request to Colonel Sandoval,
the commander of the prisons, that you be allowed to have your hair
cut."

"If you please, Uncle Steve," said Ned gratefully.

Mr. Austin was not wrong in his forecast about Lieutenant de Zavala. He
showed a full measure of sympathy. Hence a petition to Colonel Martin
Sandoval y Dominguez, commander of prisons in the City of Mexico, was
drawn up in due form. It stated that one Edward Fulton, a Texan of
tender years, now in detention at the capital, was suffering from the