cruelty!"

He sighed heavily. Ned, full of sympathy, glanced at him but said
nothing. Then his gaze turned back to the mighty peaks which stood so
sharp and clear against the blue. Truth and honesty were the most marked
qualities of Stephen Austin and he could not understand the vast web of
intrigue in which the Mexican capital was continually involved. And to
the young mind of the boy, cast in the same mold, it was yet more
baffling and repellent.

Ned still stared at the guardian peaks, but his thoughts floated away
from them. His head had been full of old romance when he entered the
vale of Tenochtitlan. He had almost seen Cortez and the conquistadores
in their visible forms with their armor clanking about them as they
stalked before him. He had gazed eagerly upon the lakes, the mighty
mountains, the low houses and the strange people. Here, deeds of which
the world still talked had been done centuries ago and his thrill was
strong and long. But the feeling was gone now. He had liked many of the
Mexicans and many of the Mexican traits, but he had felt with increasing
force that he could never reach out his hand and touch anything solid.
He thought of volcanic beings on a volcanic soil.

The throb of a drum came from the street below, and presently the shrill
sound of fifes was mingled with the steady beat. Ned stood up and
pressed his head as far forward as the bars of the window would let him.

"Soldiers, a regiment, I think," he said. "Ah, I can see them now! What
brilliant uniforms their officers wear!"

Austin also looked out.