Now all firing from the Mexican forces had ceased; behind their brushy breastwork encircling the front of the bottom-land the Bowie and Fannin men might take breath, congratulate one another, and peer keenly through the smoke wreaths wafting away on the morning breeze. The brush was blackened and burned by powder; beyond, the green prairie was strewn with Mexican soldiers and horses, the majority killed outright—and the brass cannon stood alone hub-deep in bodies; further beyond, out of range of the deadly rifles and muskets, the Mexican cavalry and infantry were streaming in groups for the town of Bejar. Already some were refording the river.

“Get that cannon, boys,” ordered Colonel Bowie; and with wild cheers a score of the men scrambled to the prairie and raced for the abandoned field-piece. After them flocked the others—Ernest and Jim cheering as lustily as any.

“Give ’em a taste of their own medicine,” rose the cry. Around was nimbly whirled the cannon, and pointed at the fleeing enemy; but the caisson was almost empty of ammunition and Colonel Bowie bade that the few powder cartridges be saved.

Then arose another cry.

“More cavalry, boys! Watch out! Back to camp!” And, instantly: “No! They’re our own men. Hooray! It’s Travis! Travis!”

For, across and below, up the river course were galloping hard in broad column a troop of horsemen, by their rough-and-ready garb and the way they rode, Texans! Captain Travis led. Evidently they were bent upon cutting the Mexicans off; but they were too late. The Mexican cavalry and infantry hastened faster—occasionally faced and threatened—there were shots from both sides—and after pressing close on the rear and flanks the Travis men turned back and the harassed Cos and Ugartechea soldiers, cavalry last, hustled into the Alamo and Bejar. The dun walls swallowed them from sight.

“Get your horses, boys!”

“No! Wait. Here comes the main army!”

And coming it was, in battle array: the infantry at quick step, the horses at an amble, the Lone Star flag of the Harrisburg company in the front; skirmishers out before and on either flank, and General Austin and his staff leading.

“Let’s find Leo,” proposed Jim. “Let’s meet ’em. There’s nothing more to do here. Some of the other men are going—see?”

For Colonel Bowie had left, and Henry Karnes, and several more, as if to report and to exchange news. Nothing loth was Ernest to follow their example. It was not pleasant, on this bloody prairie where so many bodies were lying. Why, around the cannon itself were sixteen.

He and Jim ran to seize their ponies, saddled and waiting in the protection of the timber skirting the bottom-land; and away they loped, to where the Travis troop and the main army had come together.

“We must follow them right into town,” was exclaiming General Austin. “Take them before they’ve recovered.”

“No!” protested Colonel Bowie. “That would be madness, general. Don’t try it. They’ve cannon enough mounted on the walls of the town and the Alamo to cut us to pieces on that open prairie. I’ve seen the cannon, and I know.”

“From what Bowie tells of the fortifications and the number of men manning them I agree with him, general,” added Captain Fannin, arriving.

Ernest looked in vain for General Houston, but he did not see the big form and the big hat anywhere.

“Where’s Leo Roark?” demanded Jim, as he and Ernest mingled with some of the Travis men. For Leo was nowhere in sight.

“Roark? He’s down toward San Felipe somewhere, by this time.”

“How’s that?”

“The delegates to the consultation left last night, and a lot of East Texas fellows went with ’em to guard ’em to San Felipe. So Leo joined with some of his own crowd, and mebbe he’ll go clear home to see how his folks are getting on. There wasn’t enough excitement hyar-abouts.”

“Aw, thunder! He said he’d stick,” complained Jim.

“He’ll be back. You can depend on that. You can’t keep any such lad away from a scrimmage long.”

“Where’s Sam Houston?” asked Ernest.

“Gone, with the other delegates, to tend the consultation, same as the rest of ’em. Somebody’s got to provide for this army, or there won’t be any army.”

“Jim Hill! Oh, Jim Hill!” shouted a shrill voice.

Jim turned quickly in his saddle. The voice had issued from the ranks of a company of infantry standing at ease, about seventy-five yards distant; a figure toward the end of the line waved his hat.

“Sion Bostick, sure as shooting!” exclaimed Jim. Away he galloped, pulled short, in front of the company ranks, sprang from his horse and shook hands vigorously with Sion.

Presently he came loping back.

“That’s Sion, all right, from down near Beason’s. Walked all the way, till his feet are plumb blistered. Had to leave his horse at home for the ploughing. You’ll meet him at camp.”

General Austin evidently had decided to heed the advice of Colonel Bowie, for orders were being given to camp here at Concepcion. A council of war was held at once. It also voted to postpone the attack upon Bejar and the Alamo; for the Alamo alone, according to Colonel Bowie, possessed thirty pieces of artillery, which commanded all the approaches, and against which the two six-pounders, from Gonzales and from Goliad, could do little. As for the captured Mexican four-pounder, it had no ammunition.

As soon as camp was made, and the companies dismissed, Sion looked Jim up, and Ernest was introduced to him. He was a sturdy, tanned and freckled boy of sixteen (same age as Jim) armed with a long, heavy-barrelled Kentucky rifle, as tall as he was. It had been his father’s, he said; but his father had died almost two years ago, so now it was his.

“I joined as soon as my mother’d let me,” he explained. “She finally ’lowed I could come along with Cap’n Splann’s company. I don’t know what this war’s all about, but here I am. The school’s busted up, anyhow. Nigh everybody down our way’s enlisted, and the kids that aren’t big enough to take the war-path have got to work at home. You fellows must have had a toler’bly smart little fight.”

“Well, I should say,” asserted Jim. “That prairie yonder looks like it.”

“The whole army’d have got here before sun-up,” declared Sion, “only that those East Texans went along with the delegates to guard ’em, and when Macomb came in reporting where you fellows all were, two more companies were sent back after the first company, to fetch ’em in, and we had to wait. The two companies came in without the first company, but then it was after sun-up already. If it hadn’t have been for that, we’d have got here in time for the fight, and the whole outfit of those Mexicans would have been captured. Then General Cos in Bejar would have listened to us, I reckon. I tell you what, Steve Austin was right vexed when he heard Bowie was going to stay here instead of obeying orders and turning back. It might have meant the loss of all of you, and that’d have left the army in a pretty pickle, with near a hundred men wiped out.”

“Aw,” answered Jim, bravely, “we stayed and did a good job. Ninety of us walloped four hundred, and we’re ready to do it again.”

“We sure are,” supported Ernest.

It was found that only one Texan—poor Dick Andrews—had been killed, and that no one else had even been wounded; but sixty of the Mexicans were counted, lying on the field, and others, mainly officers, had been carried into Bejar. Some forty Mexicans had been wounded and borne away.

About noon, while the army were eating dinner, a priest in a black robe approached from Bejar, with some helpers and carts, and was granted permission to remove the slain. First he laid the bodies in a long row on the ground, and prayed over them; then he had them loaded into the carts, tied fast with rawhide ropes, and hauled into town by the oxen.

Three hundred reinforcements from East Texas were reported as being on the way to join the army; and while waiting for them at Concepcion General Austin issued some stringent orders, to “hold the men down,” as Dick Carroll expressed it. There must be no more chances taken such as that at the Horseshoe.

Strong out-posts were stationed—one squad being placed in the upper story of the mission, to keep watch over the country about, and detachments of cavalry were detailed to ride in a wide circle around the town and prevent provisions and information from entering.

Another Texas flag appeared at this encampment. It had been in the knapsack of James McGahey of the Lynchburg company of volunteers, and now for the first time Ernest saw it being shown by him. It was of blue silk, with a big white star painted in the centre, over the word: “Independence”; but because of this word it was not being used, although it had been in the McGahey knapsack for a number of weeks. Texas was fighting for her rights as a state and not for independence, and the Texas leaders wanted this plainly understood.

“I suppose if the Mexican people once think we’re trying to leave ’em they’ll all turn against us,” reasoned Jim, as he and Sion and Ernest discussed the flag. “That’s a mighty pretty flag, anyhow; about as pretty as the Harrisburg flag that Mrs. Dodson made. I’d as lief carry it, and tell Mexico to go to grass.”

“If we don’t get state rights maybe we’ll declare for independence, and be a republic with Sam Houston for president,” offered Ernest, recalling what Sam Houston had prophesied when he accepted Major Rector’s razor. “I’d like to be at the consultation and hear him speak.”

“Maybe so,” agreed Jim. “But I’d like to be here, too, and help take Bejar while they’re talking.”

However, the taking of Bejar did not progress very rapidly. To be sure, on the next day, which was November 29, the expected reinforcements arrived—200 from East Texas, so that now the army numbered 600, rank and file. General Austin stayed at Concepcion, with one-half the army, and sent the other division, under Colonel Edward Burleson, the Jackson soldier, up the river about half a mile, so that now two sides of Bejar were guarded; the cavalry rode around and around, covering all sides; and not a Mexican soldier ventured out of the fortifications, except to cross the river between Bejar and the Alamo.

Sion had gone with the Burleson division; and with Leo still absent in the east, this left Jim and Ernest to depend on one another again.

It was said that General Austin was delaying for more cannon, and a body of volunteers from the United States. An express from San Felipe brought word that the consultation had gathered, and that two companies of the United States volunteers were sailing from New Orleans to join the Texans. He brought also copies of a proclamation that had been issued by the Central Committee of Defense (now changed to a General Council) at San Felipe, to the citizens of the United States.

Dick Carroll got hold of one copy, and read it aloud to a little group which included Jim and Ernest.

“That’s right,” they encouraged. “And we’ve sure paid for all we’ve got. If ’twasn’t for us there wouldn’t be a sod turned in all Texas.”

“Not by a jugful will we submit,” they chorused. “We’re going to see this thing through.”

“My sentiments exactly, boys,” remarked somebody. “Expressed just like this:

Better to die freemen than to live as slaves.”

“Listen here,” bade Dick. “We’re coming now to a powerful piece of language. It’s the kernel.” And he read with rising tone and kindling cheek.

Dick concluded and glanced around. Ernest had felt his own cheek kindling, and his eyes brightening, and he marked the same symptoms in all the group.

“Boys,” said Dick, “I call that a mighty fine document. If there aren’t people in the United States who’ll think enough of the cause of human liberty, ’specially where their own kin’s concerned, to grab their guns and light out to help us other Americans, red blood up yonder is terrible scarce.”

“Why doesn’t the United States send an army down?” blurted Jim, hotly. “She doesn’t like Mexico, anyhow, and now’s her chance. They almost had a war over the eastern boundary, and the United States is always trying to buy Texas to the Rio Grande. Let her come and take us.”

“Oh, sho’, now!” rebuked Dick. “The United States army has no call to come down in here. We aren’t fighting for independence—yet—and that would be invading part of Mexico and seizing one of her states, and there’d be a pretty how-de-do. Nations can’t do that sort of thing without other nations objecting. Fact is, for volunteers to arm themselves in the United States and then cross over is ag’in law, and for the government up north to allow that is consider’ble of a friendly act, and Mexico’ll feel right sore about it.”

“Who’s this Huston who signs as secretary? Not Sam Houston?”

“No, sir. Nor any relative, far as I know. Spells his name different. We’ll hear from Sam, later.”

On the next day or two, General Austin ordered Colonel Bowie to march the division up around back of the Alamo, and join the other division. They all crossed the river north of the Alamo, to an old mill on the west side of the stream; so that now the whole army were almost within cannon-shot of the Alamo to the south, east of the river, and within half a mile of the town to the southwest on the west side. It was reported that General Cos was ready to surrender; but when a messenger was sent forward under flag of truce, with summons to surrender, the general ordered the flag to retire at once or he would fire upon it.

General Austin lingered hereabouts for a short time, hoping that the Mexicans would sally out to drive him away; but they did not, so he made camp at the mill.

This had brought Sion Bostick and Ernest and Jim together again. Sion and some men of his company secured permission to try the little Gonzales six-pounder on the Alamo. A squad of them under Captain Poe dragged it on by ropes within 400 yards of the Alamo; and while the army eagerly watched they fired several rounds. The solid balls knocked great puffs of dust from the Alamo walls, and the Alamo cannon replied. No harm was done, by either side, and presently, after a waste of ammunition, the cannon quit.

“We dusted their coats for ’em, anyway,” proclaimed Sion, returning in high glee to Ernest. “And we collected about a dozen of their cannon-balls. Traded more than even.”

So near was the camp to the Alamo that on still nights the Mexican sentinels could be heard crying, shrilly, one to another: “Sentinela alerte! Sentinela alerte! [Sentinel on the watch! Sentinel on the watch!]” This was the custom in the Mexican army. And there was a brass band, whose music, especially at morning and evening, floated across the space into the Texan camp.

Deserters from the town stated that General Cos had sent Colonel Ugartechea south to Laredo, on the Rio Grande River, for reinforcement. General Austin kept cavalry patrols constantly on the move beyond Bejar, in the hope that the reinforcements could be cut off. On November 8, William House of Captain William Austin’s company, on a scout in search of the reinforcements, was chased by Mexican lancers, and fell from his horse and broke his neck. Jim Hill went out with a party of fifty men to bring in the body, and had a story to tell Ernest and Sion of a fight with 250 Mexicans, in which the 250 were well threshed.

Captain Travis’s company of scouts captured thirty horses that General Cos had turned out of Bejar because there was no forage for them.

Sion Bostick’s crowd were given permission again to try the cannon. They put it in an irrigating ditch only 300 yards from the Alamo, and fired away. This appeared to enrage the Mexicans in the Alamo, who replied hotly, and even shot at the camp. Several Mexicans on the walls of the Alamo were killed by Texan sharpshooters; but the cannon on both sides being small, did no more damage than before. Sion and his comrade cannoneers could be seen picking up the Mexican round-shot and loading those that fitted into the cannon in the ditch, and sending them back again.

But all these scoutings and bombardments were not enough for the Texas volunteers. They wanted to take Bejar and be done, and go home to their families and crops. Even Jim grew dissatisfied, although he had agreed with Ernest and Leo to “stick.”

“We didn’t enlist for camp duty and fooling ’round,” he said. “We weren’t even sworn in. We just gathered together and came to drive the Mexican soldiers out of Texas, so we could go home again for Christmas and have a little peace. We aren’t bound to stay here this way waiting. We’ve got enough men to wade right through Bejar. Fannin says that two hundred and fifty men of the proper sort could do the business.”

“Yes, but he said if they were properly drilled. We aren’t drilled much,” answered Ernest. “The men are always making General Austin mad by shooting at marks around camp and by going off home without permission. He says he’s worn out trying to regulate ’em. And Travis says we’re patriotic, all right, but we aren’t much more than a mob.”

“Well, you fellows may know what we’re fighting about, but I don’t, and I don’t care,” asserted Sion. “All I know is, we enlisted to fight, and this cannon-ball business doesn’t amount to shucks. I’ll bet there are enough men right from the Colorado to drive those Mexicans out of Bejar like a flock of turkeys. They’ll shoot cannon, but they can’t stand rifles.”

Thus a spirit of great discontent was evident in the army. Reinforcements in little squads were constantly arriving, breathless and eager; but other squads were constantly leaving, in independent fashion, for the east, with the promise that they’d be back when they’d “found things all right at home and there was any real fighting.” General Austin looked more worried and feeble, as if indeed worn out. And still the Mexican military band played defiantly, and above the walls of the Alamo and of San Antonio de Bejar floated over Texas soil the green, white and red tri-color of Mexico. And in the interior of Mexico General Santa Anna, according to reports, had put down all opposition to his military government; no help could be expected from the Mexican patriots there, and he was assembling an army, not only to rescue General Cos in San Antonio, but to conquer the Texas “rebels.”

So affairs looked rather black, and Ernest, for one, did not see exactly how they were going to turn out, until, suddenly, into the camp at the old mill rode Leo Roark and others, fresh from San Felipe, and the consultation, and full of enthusiasm.

“Meeting’s adjourned. Now where’s Cos?” they shouted.

“Did you see your folks? Did you have any fun? Where’ve you been, all this time?” demanded Jim and Ernest, rushing to greet Leo.

“Yes, I saw ’em. They’re doing fine. Had some fun. Heard most of the consultation, anyhow.”

“What’d they do?” queried Jim.

“Drew up a regular declaration of rights, elected Henry Smith state governor, Austin’s going to the United States to get money, Sam Houston’s commander-in-chief to raise an army—and,” concluded Leo, “there are near two hundred United States volunteers right behind us, now, on the way to help take Bejar. We passed ’em yesterday. Wait a minute and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“I’ll get Sion,” proposed Ernest. “You know Sion Bostick?”

“From down on the Colorado? Yes, I’ve met up with him.”