CHAPTER XXIII.
THE SURRENDER OF THE CITY.
"If only I was at liberty once again!"
Ralph had said this to himself over and over, as he sat on the hard wooden bench which served him both for a seat and a couch in the little stone cell which he occupied in the San Antonio lockup.
Several days had gone by, and no one had come to see the youth but his jailer, who delivered food twice a day, morning and afternoon. The jailer spoke nothing but Spanish, so communications between the two were limited.
Ralph often wondered what had become of Dan and the white mustang. Was his brother lost in the timber, or had he fallen in with the Indians?
There was a tiny window in the cell, high up over the couch. From this Ralph could get a slight view of the river and of a patch of sky, and that was all.
But one afternoon, when all was quiet, Ralph noticed a shadow at the window, and, gazing up, made out part of an Indian face stationed there. Quickly he stood on the bench.
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