The Free Lances

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.