At Natchitoches: forty bushels of frogs to the acre—The Bee-Hunter casts his lot with Colonel Crockett and Thimblerig—The welcome at Nacogdoches—Davy’s parting speech—The Bee-Hunter says farewell to Kate—The journey to the Rio Trinidad—Encounter with the Pirate and the Indian Hunter—They also enlist with the Colonel—Chasing the buffalo, and separation of the party—Davy and the mountain lion—The spectacle of Halley’s comet—A party of Comanches surround Thimblerig—The party reunited—Encounter with Mexicans—In sight of the Alamo—The welcome at San Antonio.

The next morning, after an early walk along the lowlands of the river, which were said to produce each year forty bushels of frogs to the acre, with alligators enough for fences, Davy was standing in front of the village inn, when he heard a clear and musical voice break into song. Drawing near to the singer, he saw him to be a young man of about twenty-two, of light and graceful figure, indicating strength and activity. He was dressed in a hunting-shirt, tastily ornamented with fringe. A highly-finished rifle was in his hand, and a hunting-pouch, covered with Indian ornaments, was slung across his shoulders. His clean shirt-collar was open, secured only by a black riband around his neck. The young man’s face was a handsome, bright, and manly one. From his eyes to his breast he was sunburnt as dark as mahogany, while the upper part of his high forehead was as white and as polished as marble. Thick clusters of curly hair showed under his cap.

When the young man saw Davy, he called him by name, and said that he had come to meet him, for the purpose of going with him to Texas. He was a bee-hunter, and knew the trails that the Spanish had dignified with the name of roads. As soon as they could get a horse for Thimblerig, the three men started for Nacogdoches, in Texas, where the first troubles had begun. The Bee-Hunter proved a cheerful companion and an experienced guide, and after a journey of one hundred and twenty miles they came in sight of Nacogdoches, then a straggling settlement of one thousand people. From afar they saw the tri-color, two-starred flag of Texas and Coahuila, at the top of a high pole, and when nearer heard the sound of fife and drum, in honor of Crockett’s arrival. The day was spent in hearing the news, procuring supplies, and writing letters, and at a late hour they were ready for an early start for San Antonio, two hundred miles distant.

What they had heard was enough to stir their blood. The capture of General Cos and his Mexicans by General Burleson, the surrender of the Alamo, and the clearing from Texas soil of the last Mexican soldier, presaged an easy road to Texan freedom. But the danger of an invasion by another and larger Mexican army was not unlikely.

Before going to bed, Crockett surprised Thimblerig, busy with his thimbles and the elusive pea, in the midst of a dozen men. At the sight of his new friend, the crestfallen gambler hustled his apparatus out of sight.

The next morning Davy found the Bee-Hunter in the little parlor of the inn, talking with a girl of about eighteen. Davy says she was as lovely as the wild-flowers of the prairie, and when she courtesied to Davy, and looked farewell into her lover’s face, the old scout and hunter turned away with tears in his eyes. A gourd for water, a pocket Bible, and some other little tokens of her thoughtfulness and love, she gave to the handsome recruit and he was ready to go.

In front of the inn, Crockett made a short speech before mounting his little mustang. Standing with head uncovered, he said at last:

“I will die, if I must, with my ‘Betsy’ in my arms. No! I will not die! I’ll grin down the walls of the Alamo, and we’ll lick up the Mexicans like fine salt!”

The Bee-Hunter then came out, followed by the weeping girl. He said good-by to his friends who surrounded him, took Kate, his sweetheart, to his heart, kissed her farewell, and leaped upon his horse. As he rode away he sang in a clear, exultant voice, as if to cheer his listeners:

A soft and tremulous strain, like an echo of his song, came to their ears from Kate’s dear lips, as if in prophecy:

The three men travelled steadily through great forests of hardwood, with occasional cane-brakes along the many streams. They saw much game, but dared not do any hunting, for fear of losing their way. On the second day the Trinity River was reached, seventy miles southwest, near where the town of Crockett stands. The next night they took shelter from a “norther” in the miserable cabin of a poor white woman, who generously gave them part of her scanty store. Here they found two recruits.

“While we were securing our horses for the night,” the story runs, “we saw two men approaching on foot. They were both armed with rifles and hunting-knives, and I must say they were about the roughest samples I had ever seen. One was a man about fifty years old, tall and raw-boned. He was dressed in a sailor’s round jacket, with a tarpaulin hat on his head. His whiskers nearly covered his face, and there was a deep scar across his forehead. His companion, considerably younger, was bareheaded, and clad in a deer-skin dress made after our fashion. Though he was not much darker than the old man, I perceived that he was an Indian.”

These men were on the way to the front, and they agreed to accompany Davy’s little party. The Indian surprised them by producing a brace of rabbits from his bag, and a good supper was soon prepared, consisting of fried bacon and rabbit, with onions. Thimblerig, for some unaccountable reason, objected to eating with the bewhiskered party, who had been, so the Bee-Hunter said, at one time a pirate. Overhearing some of his talk to this effect, the old salt fixed his eye on Thimblerig, drew his long hunting-knife from its sheath, and placed it by his own plate, saying, “Stranger, I think you had better take a seat and have some supper.” The gambler looked at the Pirate, then at the knife, and his scruples were put aside.

The next day they saw a large drove of buffalo, and the whole party, with the exception of the Pirate, followed them. At the end of two hours Davy found himself alone on the prairies, his tiny mustang nearly dead with exhaustion, and himself little better off. Too tired to think of going on, Davy prepared to camp near a stream where a fallen tree offered shelter from the wind. As he was inspecting the place, he saw a great mountain lion about to spring upon him. A shot from “Betsy” failed to settle the creature, and it was only after a desperate fight that Davy succeeded in killing the savage animal with his hunting-knife. By this time he wanted sleep, and it was just before the first streak of dawn that he awoke, stiff with cold and sore from the clawing he had received from the lion, that now lay near him upon the ground. The night was clear and the stars bright, and over in the east was the magnificent spectacle of Halley’s comet, sweeping the skies for thirty degrees with its luminous train—a grand forerunner of the great events to follow.

As the day came on, Davy shot a wild goose, upon the little river, and made a hearty breakfast. He was now without his mustang, as the cunning creature, after feigning more fatigue than it felt, had left him in the lurch. As he plodded along, hoping that the stream would lead him to some trail, there came all at once in sight a party of about fifty Comanches, with lances that glittered in the sunlight. They came like a whirlwind until almost upon him, and then, dividing to each side as if by magic, surrounded him. Davy knew enough Spanish to rejoice when the chief used the words, “Mucho amigo, mucho amigo,” and showed a friendly countenance. When he saw the cougar that Davy had killed with his knife, he was eager to adopt the hunter into the tribe, and when the scout declined the honor, the chief insisted on escorting him as far as the place where the San Antonio trail crossed the Colorado. They reached this the second day, and just before they came to the river a thin spiral of smoke was seen through the trees. Riding ahead with the chief, Davy saw Thimblerig, practising his old game upon the crown of his great white hat. As the whole party swooped down on him with yells enough to scare the bravest, the gambler was only saved from dropping dead by the sight of Davy’s face. By the gift of a Bowie knife, Davy procured fresh horses from the Indians; and after a powwow and a smoke, the Comanches left them, and he again took up the journey to San Antonio with his single companion.

Within twenty-four hours they fell in with the Bee-Hunter, the Pirate, and the Indian, making a party of five. When about twenty miles from San Antonio they were met by a number of mounted Mexicans. Shots were exchanged, whereupon the Mexicans disappeared in a cloud of dust. As the scouts entered San Antonio, they saw with delight the Texan flag upon the Alamo. General Cos, Santa Anna’s brother-in-law, had surrendered the old chapel-fortress, with its four-foot walls, after losing three hundred men. He had signed a parole, and his seventeen hundred Mexican soldiers were prisoners, disarmed, and on their way across the Rio Grande. As Crockett and his companions rode up to the Alamo and made themselves known, the gates were opened, and they entered amid the cheers of the victorious garrison.

For several weeks there was a state of doubt as to the intentions of Santa Anna. Davy was kept busy writing to his friends regarding supplies and future plans. The Bee-Hunter, the Pirate, the Indian, and Thimblerig recognized him as their leader, and kept ready to answer his call.