Ernest awakened with the sensation that this was to be a day of action. When once the army moved forward, no one could tell what might not happen. All the men were astir early, preparing for the march: viewing their horses, freshening the priming of their guns, and putting last repairs on footgear and saddles and bridles.

But after breakfast, the first thing done was the election of field officers. This passed off without any trouble whatever. When the army was paraded, to hear the announcement that Colonel John Moore had been re-elected colonel, Edward Burleson (another sturdy fighter) lieutenant-colonel, and Alexander Somervell major, General Austin made a short speech. Sitting his horse, slim and erect in close-fitting suit of plain brown buckskin, he spoke bare-headed.

He did indeed look weak and pale, but his voice carried well, and what he said was received with cheers.

“It is the cause of the Constitution and of freedom [he declared], the cause of each man individually and of Texas collectively. Our prospects and happiness will depend in a great measure on the issue of this campaign; everyone feels its importance, and it is unnecessary to appeal to the patriotism of the army, but the commander-in-chief deems it his duty to remind each citizen-soldier that patriotism and firmness will avail but little without discipline and a strict obedience to orders. The first duty of a soldier is obedience.”

“Oh, we’ll sure be obedient,” quoth Jim Hill, to Ernest. “If he’ll tell us where to go, we’ll go.”

The parade was dismissed; but scarcely had the companies been marched to their quarters, and the horses of the cavalry been tethered along the picket ropes, to wait, saddled and bridled, when another wave of excitement flowed through the camp.

“Goliad’s been captured! We’ve taken Goliad!”

“How do you know?”

“An express just came in, from there.”

“Who took it? Smith and Allen?”

“No; they didn’t get there in time. George Collingsworth and about forty of the Caney and Matagorda men, from the Gulf coast, attacked it on the night of the ninth, broke into the commandant’s quarters with axes, seized him and the other officers, killed one Mexican and wounded three others, corralled all the supplies, captured twenty-five of the garrison, and had only one man wounded, themselves! And whom do you think they picked up, on the way? Ben Milam!”

“What! Old Ben? Thought he was in prison at Monterey?”

“So he was, but he didn’t stay. Bribed his jailor, got hold of a horse, and lit out. Travelled by night and by day, for six hundred miles, into Southeast Texas, aiming for the Gulf. On their way to Goliad the boys found him in the brush, and he went along in with ’em. Now he’s on his way here to join the army. Fetching some prisoners, too.”

All this was good news. Everybody liked and respected Colonel Ben Milam, and rejoiced that he would be on hand to help. The taking of Goliad had cut the route by which Mexico might wish to march more troops inland from the coast. And the supplies and arms taken were much needed.

“Hurray for old Ben Milam! And hurray for Collingsworth! Did they get many supplies and guns, I wonder?”

“You bet. A brass six-pounder, about three hundred muskets, and a lot of ammunition and stuff.”

“Those are what we need.”

“Yes, sir! And we need Goliad as bad. That stops Mexico from sending any more troops to Bejar from the east. We’ve a line of Texans across that trail.”

Expresses were immediately hastened, with the news—one also with orders to Captain Collingsworth to hold Goliad, and to Captains Allen and Benjamin Fort Smith to return from there at once, bringing all the extra arms and supplies.

About noon Colonel Ben Milam rode gallantly into camp, at the head of a little squad conducting the three Mexican officers captured at Goliad—a lieutenant-colonel, a captain and an ensign. Having reported to headquarters, Colonel Milam was given a great welcome when he appeared on the field. But he brought little news from Mexico itself.

“You know a fellow in a Mexican prison doesn’t get much chance to learn what’s going on, boys,” he said. “And since I’ve been out I’ve hurried too fast to pick up any news especial.”

“Where was Santa Anna?”

“Yonder, at the capital, I reckon. I didn’t stay to bid him good-by. Fact is, I didn’t pass his way.”

“How do they feel about him, in Mexico, do you think?”

“He’s in the saddle; that’s generally recognized. But everything he does, he does through the vice-president that he’s appointed—Don Miguel Barrigan, a sort of president pro tem., or acting president. Santa Anna pulls the strings.”

“Anything left of the Constitution of 1824, and State rights?”

“I told you, boys, that I was in too much of a hurry to talk politics. But I reckon you’ve heard of the Decree of October Third, which Barrigan issued for Santa Anna? I learned about it from a paisano [country-man] just as I was crossing into Texas. All the state legislatures are dissolved, and all state officers must be approved by the Supreme General Government. There’ll be no more elections by the people. We don’t have any voice in the management of affairs, and the famous Constitution of ’24 looks to me as if it were wadded up in a ball and tossed aside.”

“Won’t there be a revolution, yonder, to help in this fight Texas is making?”

Colonel Milam shrugged his shoulders.

“Quien sabe? [Who knows?]” he said. “But in my humble opinion Santa Anna has all those Mexican states snubbed fast—they’re afraid of him; and Texas’ll have to depend on the United States for help. Of course, boys,” he added, apologetically, “I’ve been at large too short a time to sabe much, myself; but it seems to me our own blood in the United States won’t stand by and see us lose either our liberties or our lands. These natives are used to that sort of thing; but we Anglo-Saxons aren’t.”

“Well,” spoke somebody, “there’s Sam Houston. Maybe when it comes down to a regular war, he’ll get President Andy Jackson to send United States troops across the Red River and take us under his wing. We’d be a heap better off under the American flag than under the Mexican.”

The three captured Mexican officers were started for San Felipe—where they later were released upon promising not to take up arms again in opposition to the privileges of the Constitution of ’24. And this afternoon the little army moved by ford and ferry to the west side of the Guadalupe. Here they camped.

“Aw, ginger!” complained Jim, to Ernest, at the orders to unsaddle. “Why don’t we go ahead to San Anton’? These nights are getting right chill, and my blanket’s toler’ble thin and wearing thinner. ’Most of us fellows came in a hurry, to fight and get back again. We didn’t fetch any saddle-bags, expecting to camp!”

“We couldn’t take Bejar with only two hundred men, could we?” reminded Ernest.

“We could keep warm trying, anyhow,” grumbled Jim.

The discontent over the delay did not last long. Anybody could understand that to meet the trained Mexican soldiers in a place of their own choosing was not like a skirmish or a surprise; and that it was better to be slow than be sorry. Even Leo, who was more stubborn than Jim, finally admitted that perhaps they couldn’t fight Mexican soldiers as they’d fight Indians.

General Austin emphasized this in an address that he made, at inspection on the second day after the Guadalupe was crossed. He told the troops that he had drawn up a set of regulations for the Texas army; and so much depended upon this campaign against Bejar that it would be necessary that these regulations be closely obeyed, for the sake of good order and discipline. Otherwise, with every man acting as he pleased, there would be only disorder and confusion.

After the address the troops passed in review, the flag brought by the Harrisburg company floating gaily. Already the camp duties and guard-mountings under arms had had a good effect, for the different companies, both cavalry and infantry, marched in lines like veterans.

The regulations, posted in front of each company headquarters, covered every phase of army life so well that now anybody could see how badly needed they were.

The next day camp was broken. Colonel Milam and a company of scouts were sent ahead to spy upon the movements around San Antonio; and the army followed in military formation at last, with front and rear guards, and skirmishers out on the flanks.

“We sure aren’t pretty, but we’re awful tough to chew,” commented Jim, glancing back from where, beside Ernest, he rode in the Dickinson column of cavalry.

And, indeed, this first Texan army did not pretend to be pretty. The men were in their plain citizen-settler clothes—flannel shirts and calico shirts and buckskin shirts; trousers of buckskin and of homespun cloth; footgear of moccasins, boots and ragged shoes; headgear of caps from coonskins, foxskins and other pelts, and of broad-brimmed hats, black, gray, and beaver brown. Long-barrelled muzzle-loading rifles, muskets, shot-guns, and Mississippi yagers (that kicked tremendously), dragoon pistols and hunting-knives were the arms; and some of the men were not armed at all. The brass six-pounder from Gonzales was hauled by a yoke of oxen; a few provisions were packed on mules. General Austin, accompanied by Colonel Moore, Adjutant Warren Hall, Judge-Advocate William Wharton, and others of his staff, led.

At Cibolo Creek, where camp was made until Captains Allen and Benjamin Fort Smith should arrive with their men from Goliad and Victoria, who should appear but Don Placido Benavides, the alcalde of Victoria, with thirty Mexican ranchers. They had come to join with their fellow Texans in the fight for liberty. This pleased General Austin and all the army. Don Placido declared that he received circulars inviting him and the other Mexicans to enlist with Texas, and approved of them; and he believed that a great many other native people also would rise for the constitution and state rights.

Colonel Milam’s spy company sighted 1000 Mexican cavalry only ten miles from the camp, and sent in word to the general to be prepared for an attack. Leo, who with two other men had been out on a scout under Lieutenant Bull, returned in high feather and Jim and Ernest were fairly envious at his tale.

“We made ’em leg it—you ought to’ve seen ’em leg it!” jubilated Leo. “Ten of ’em, only three miles from this camp. The lieutenant ’lowed ’em to think they were chasing us back, till they were in about five rods of us, and then we turned to let ’em have it, and you ought to’ve seen ’em leg it. They legged it so smart they didn’t take time to aim, and shot by pointing their guns over their shoulders. We chased ’em two miles and then we quit.”

“If four Texans can lick ten Mexican regulars that easy,” quoth Jim, scornfully, “I rather guess we won’t have much trouble cleaning out Bejar.”

“Maybe we won’t have to clean it out,” proposed Jim. “Did you know we’ve sent a message by a paisano to Cos, asking whether he’ll respect a flag of truce for a parley?”

“Who wants to parley?” demanded Leo, hotly. “What about?”

“There was a council of war at headquarters, anyway,” pursued Jim. “I got that straight. And the council decided we ought to try to make it clear to Cos just why Texas is fighting. When he understands that all we’re after is our rights under the republic he might agree to quit with us till we could treat with Santa Anna. I reckon General Austin’d rather save Texas by peace than by war, of course. It’d mean a lot of lives.”

“Suppose so,” admitted Leo. “The men here in this very camp are the best crop in Texas, so far. All right; let ’em parley, if they can. We’ll be getting reinforcements all the time, anyway. Ugartechea might agree to a talk—he’s white, for a Mexican—but Cos never will. You’ll see.”

And General Cos didn’t. He sent back word that he would respect no flag of truce from “rebels.” This reply was worth a hundred men, it made the little army so indignant and determined.

Captains Allen and Benjamin Fort Smith marched into camp with their detachment from Victoria and Goliad way, and with the supplies and munitions captured by Captain Collingsworth at Goliad. Among other things, they brought along the six-pounder brass cannon, so that now the army had a battery of two.

The muskets were distributed to the men who needed them; and late that afternoon advance was resumed in earnest, for the Salado Creek, which was only five miles from Bejar.

When they went into camp, after the first stretch, Colonel Jim Bowie rode in! He had got out of San Antonio just in time. Glad indeed were the army to see Jim Bowie. He reported that the Mexican troops were fortifying the town—had built walls across the streets leading into the two plazas or squares, so that these were now enclosed entirely; had mounted cannon behind these walls and on the flat tops of the stone houses; and were making ready to repel all attacks. The old mission of the Alamo, surrounded by a high, thick wall, across the San Antonio River, just outside of the town, also was well garrisoned. And reinforcements had been received, and Colonel Ugartechea was about to be sent after more reinforcements.

Altogether, Colonel Bowie thought that General Cos had decided to fight from his fortifications rather than in the open, after having learned how the Texans were rallying; and he advised General Austin to push on as rapidly as possible.

On the night of the 19th a forced march was made. The Salado was reached at daybreak. From the advance, rifle-shots drifted back through the mist, and the alarm spread; but the shots proved to be only those of a skirmish with a Mexican spy company, who promptly retreated before Ben Milam’s men and left the crossing clear.

So, on the morning of October 20, the army camped on the west bank of the Salado Creek, within sight of Bejar, beyond the stretch of gently rolling prairie.

Now another recruit arrived. He was the celebrated Deaf Smith himself—and he proved to be thoroughly angered. Amidst a curious crowd of Gonzales men (he had lived at Gonzales before he moved to San Antonio) he told his story in the fewest possible words; his hand behind his ear to catch any comments, and a flush on his dark, leathery face.

“Was goin’ home to Bejar after a leetle hunt [he said]. Hadn’t heard ’special about this scrimmage. Know everybody in Bejar, anyhow. Met up with a Mexican camp. They signed me friendly to come in. So I rides on unsuspectin’. When I got right near they all begun shootin’ at me. Never teched me. Dirty trick. Wuss’n Injuns. Made me mad. So hyar I be. Ready to sarve. Fam’ly in Bejar yet, though. Got to get ’em out.”

“Bully for you! That’s the spirit!” they praised. No recruit could be of greater value, for “Deaf” Smith, the lone hunter, was as brave as a bulldog and as cunning as a fox. He could “out-Injun” the Indians themselves. And he knew every foot of the country and every inch of Bejar.

General Austin immediately made him chief independent scout.

On the morning after Deaf Smith’s arrival in such a huff Ernest heard himself hailed as he was returning from washing his one extra pair of socks in the creek. The voice was that of Sergeant Brown, who held a piece of paper in his hand.

“The lieutenant’s got you down on a detail this mawnin’,” drawled the sergeant. “You get youah hawss an’ gun, an’ report to Majuh Somervell, over yonduh.”

“What is it? A scout?” queried Ernest, joyed.

“No. Deaf Smith’s heard from his fam’ly, an’ I reckon you’re goin’ out to escort ’em in.”

Camp life had been rather dull, save for the scouting parties constantly trotting out and trotting in; Jim and Leo both had been off on details for outpost duties—Leo even had met the enemy—and Ernest felt that it was high time he was given a chance. He grabbed his little rifle, saddled and bridled in a jiffy, and on his yellow pony loped hastily across the camp-ground to where Major Somervell was sitting his horse amidst a small group of other horsemen. Deaf Smith also was there. And Dick Carroll.

“I am ordered to report to you for duty, sir,” said Ernest, saluting and trying not to grin.

The major surveyed him quizzically and scratched his nose.

“Well,” he remarked, “if Dickinson can spare you. They must grow soldiers young, in that company of his.”

“Oh, he’s a Texan, all right,” spoke somebody—Dick Carroll. “He’s the boy who carried that message from Gonzales to Burnam’s.”

“Yes, and he can shoot as hard as General Jackson, I bet you,” added somebody else.

“I wasn’t hinting to the contrary,” laughed Major Somervell. “I was just looking twice to be sure I saw him. Let’s start and rescue Smith’s old woman and kids before he plumb bursts.”

The major pricked his horse; and Deaf Smith, who had not heard a word but who had been alertly waiting, at the first move leaped his horse to the fore. They were a free and jaunty little squad, as they rode away, the major and Deaf Smith leading, and the rest following two by two, Ernest beside Dick.

“Do you think we’ll have a fight, Dick?” asked Ernest, hopefully, as they trotted along.

“No, I don’t look for any,” answered Dick. “We’re only ordered to the Espada mission below Bejar, to get Smith’s family. They sent word they’d be waiting there, and the old man’s uneasy about ’em. Bowie and Fannin have been in that region, commandeering supplies from the rancheros. They say it’s all peaceful.”

At any rate, whether to a fight or not, the trot and lope across the green prairie, in the fresh air, was a delight—especially when one was a Texan soldier, among other Texan soldiers, and the enemy was likely to be watching.

But nothing happened. You would not have supposed that war was being waged. Without a single word Deaf Smith guided straight across the prairie, into the southwest, and after about an hour’s steady riding he jerked his thumb and head, swerved toward a lone tree beside the trail before, and upon reaching a small group there, halted.

They were his wife and eight or nine children, with a burro piled high with household stuff. The wife being a Mexican, and Deaf Smith being dark himself, the children all looked like Mexicans.

Deaf Smith merely grunted; the wife smiled pleasantly; the children stared. Deaf Smith beckoned to the smallest child, and lifted her before him on the saddle; his wife clambered behind him. Major Somervell took another child; Dick Carroll took another; presently all the family were accommodated. Deaf Smith led out again; and driving the burro the expedition turned back for the camp.

“Huh!” commented Dick Carroll. “Hyar we come, capturing half the Mexican nation, and never a shot fired.”

“Guess there aren’t many words wasted in this family, boys,” called Major Somervell.

And to laughter and good humor they approached the camp on the Salado.

“By cracky!” uttered Dick, when the camp was at hand, near before. “A parade, isn’t it? And if that isn’t Sam Houston himself addressing it, I’ll eat my hat, and his, too!”

Right! The army, cavalry and infantry had been drawn up, by companies, in close formation, two ranks deep; the general officers were sitting their horses, in front, facing the line; and midway between them and the army a large man, in familiar Mexican blanket and big gray hat, from his saddle was making to the men a speech accompanied by vigorous gestures. Sam Houston, sure enough!

Just as the scouting party arrived, to Ernest’s disappointment the general ceased and retired; but a hearty cheer applauded him. The parade was dismissed, and Ernest hastily unsaddled and sought out Jim and Leo—who as usual were confabbing together.

“Aw, is that all you got?” they scoffed, greeting him. “We saw you come in.”

“Did the best we could,” defended Ernest. “Deaf Smith had to have his family, and so we captured half the Mexican nation for him.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Almost to the Espada Mission, on the San Antonio River, six or eight miles below Bejar.”

“Sight anything?”

“Nope.”

“You missed it here, then,” proclaimed Jim. “We had a big parade and review again, and some corking speeches. And Leo’s hawss r’ared and nigh threw him off.”

“Didn’t, either,” stoutly denied Leo. “A fly must have bit him, is all. These pesky horse-flies are getting fierce, this cold weather.”

“What’d they all say?” invited Ernest, stretching himself out comfortably. “When did Sam Houston turn up? What’d he say?”

“He rode in, a short bit ago, with a bunch of men from the Red Lands. We hear tell that when he got the last message from Austin to hurry up he gave his last five dollars to an express to rustle volunteers in his section, straddled his hawss and lit out for the army. He sure can make a talk. You ought to’ve heard him.”

“He’s certainly some man,” approved Leo.

“What’d he say?” demanded Ernest, again.

“Well,” resumed Jim, “he opines, as a soldier, that we need more drill and more supplies, before we mix up with those Mexican regulars and try to take Bejar. Thinks we’d better ‘rendeves’ [gather] t’other side the Guadalupe, ’stead of here in the open, away from our base, and wait for artillery and ammunition and men. Maybe he doesn’t know Texans, but he seems to know what he’s talking about.”

“Knows how to say it, all right,” commented Leo. “I could just sit and listen to that man all day. He’s got a voice, hasn’t he! Some man, some man.”

“Austin and General Jack speechified considerable, too,” continued Jim. “Oh, we’ve got things all planned out, now. The council of war’s heard that the people are rising beyond the Rio Grande in favor of the republic under the constitution of ’24, and General Santa Anna’s kept too busy to fool with Bejar; so we’re going to march on it pronto and cut it off and besiege it. General Austin’s made arrangements with the paisanos and rancheros [ranchers] ’round here to sell us plenty corn and stuff, and we’ll have bread and horse-feed. He’s pledged his own money to pay for it with. Don Antonio Padilla, a big ranchero, and Colonel Juan Seguin of the Mexican army have joined us, with some Mexicans; and Seguin’s been made a captain in the Texas army and’ll raise a company of native volunteers. All the Redlanders and other East Texans are on the way and liable to arrive any minute, and Dr. Asa Hoxey’s sending on some twelve-pounders from San Felipe. The general consultation’s going to meet at San Felipe, where it left off when its members came to the army, and fix up a temporary government, to provide for laws and the army and look out after the rights of the settlers; and it’ll issue an official appeal to the United States to help us, too. And already there’s a couple of companies of Texas Volunteers being enlisted in New Orleans—isn’t that so, Leo?—to march out here and throw in with the Texas cause.”

“That’s what we hear,” agreed Leo. “But the best thing that’s happened is bread! Think of that! Real bread, made out of corn flour! I’m so blamed sick of jerked meat and bacon slivers that I can’t hardly swallow. But bread! Wait till I set my teeth in a slab of bread!”

“I don’t know,” mused Jim. “Bread’ll be mighty good, but what I liked to hear was about the cannon and reinforcements. I reckon we’ll need ’em, at Bejar, if Cos has fortified it the way Jim Bowie says he has. There are eight hundred men at Bejar and we’ve got less’n five hundred.”

“Do we have to wait till those New Orleans companies get here?” asked Ernest.

“Nobody’s said so,” answered Jim. “But we may wait for the Redlanders. Those East Texas folks want a chance, don’t they. And Austin’s looking powerful sick. We hear tell he offered the job of commander-in-chief to Houston, but Houston wouldn’t take it without being regularly elected. Anyway, I reckon Houston and a lot others’ll have to go in to San Felipe to that consultation. It meets on the first.”

“I don’t reckon we’ll retreat east of the Guadalupe, just the same,” asserted Leo, doggedly. “We ought to clean up Bejar, so we all can go home for Christmas. Sabe that?”