Читать книгу With Sam Houston in Texas онлайн

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Mr. Carroll had spoken correctly, for within a day or two the general (he had been general of the Tennessee militia) did appear in Gonzales. Ernest found him there, at supper time, talking in the midst of a group of citizens. He wore the same big, broad-brimmed whitish hat, and Mexican blanket, and buckskin pantaloons, and looked as large as any two other men.

Ernest stood on the outskirts of the little circle of curious spectators, and gazed like the rest of them. He knew Sam Houston; certainly he did; but although Dick Carroll was there, taking part in the conversation, he felt as if it would be rather nervy of him to elbow in. Still, he hoped that the general would notice him, in some way.

However, Mr. Carroll chanced to see him, and beckoned him forward.

“Here’s another friend of yourn, general,” announced Dick, holding Ernest by the arm. “And he’s a Texan, too. We catch ’em young, in this country. You remember him, I reckon?”

The general smiled his wonderful, kindly smile, and stretched out his great hand, which entirely swallowed Ernest’s.