“Let’s see,” spoke Leo, after he had put up his horse, and reported, and returned wiping his forehead with a bandanna handkerchief, to greet Sion, and to sit down, surrounded by his expectant cronies, Dick Carroll and several others. “You don’t care anything about my visit home. I was at the consultation most of the time, anyway, and slept outside, nights, in my blanket. So did the other fellows, except those that lived in the town.”

“Did you meet up with any of my folks?” asked Sion.

“I sure did, and Jim’s, too. They all sent their love. Well, the consultation met on the third, in that little old one-story convention hall that hasn’t any ceiling. There were fifty-five delegates, which didn’t leave much room for the rest of us. But all the big men were there, except Austin: J. A. Wharton, and Williamson (Three-legged Willie, you know), and de Zavala, the patriot, and Captain Fisher, of Gonzales, and Captain Burnam, and Dave Macomb, and A. Huston, of San Augustine, and Branch T. Archer, of Brazoria, and Sam Houston——.”

“What’d Sam Houston wear?” inquired Dick Carroll, pointedly.

“Buckskins and Mexican blanket, of course.”

“Looked like the best-dressed man, too; didn’t he?”

“That man certainly carries his clothes regardless,” admitted Leo. “You really don’t notice what he has on when he gets in action. Well, first thing they elected Branch Archer president of the meeting, and then they appointed Wharton and Houston and ten others to draw up a declaration that would tell the people in Mexico and the United States what we were fighting about.”

“I’d like to know that, myself,” invited Sion. “Haven’t got it through my head yet!”

“I brought a copy with me,” continued Leo. “There were a thousand printed. Here ’tis.”

“Let Dick read it,” proposed somebody. “He’s a boss reader; never shies at a word.”

So Dick Carroll took the handbill, and read:

“That sounds kind of patronizing,” commented Dick, interrupting himself. “Some Mexicans mayn’t like it—coming from Texas.”

“’Tisn’t a declaration of independence, after all, is it!” remarked Sion. “Why don’t we fight for independence?”

“Well, some of them did talk independence,” answered Leo. “But Sam Houston was against it and so were others, and it was voted down, in favor of the constitution of 1824—thirty-three to fourteen. Houston put the motion, himself.”

“Go on, Dick,” they bade. And Dick proceeded.

“Comes near independence, doesn’t it!” quoth somebody. “Just says if they won’t play with us we won’t play with them!”

“Merely being polite about it, is all,” agreed Dick. And he resumed.

“Glad to hear that,” was the interruption. “I’ve been pinin’ to know who was goin’ to pay me for my crops I’ve lost.”

“Pay in faith, huh? Wall, thar’s nothin’ else in the treasury, that’s sartin.”

“Thar’s sense to that. We got land a-plenty, anyhow.”

Dick passed the handbill around.

“Who wrote that?” he asked, of Leo. “Sounds a little like Sam Houston, and then ag’in it doesn’t seem to be quite high and mighty enough. Sam’s fond of big words.”

“Don’t know who did write it,” answered Leo. “They say there were four or five propositions. Austin sent one in, favoring the Mexican constitution of ’24 and separation from Coahuila. It was the mildest. Daniel Parker, of Nacogdoches, and D. C. Barrett, of Mina, had a couple of others. Three-legged Willie had another ready. That was the hottest, and they say the most of the one adopted is his, toned down some.”

“Were there any good speeches?”

“Well, I should rather reckon there were. I heard ’em through a window. Most of us outsiders had to listen through the door and windows. Dr. Branch Archer made a bully speech, as president. He said we weren’t fighting for ourselves alone; we were ‘laying the corner-stone of liberty in the great Mexican republic.’ Mr. Royall read a letter from Austin, telling what he thought the consultation ought to do—and they pretty nearly did it. Martin Palmer argufied for independence and J. D. Clements, of Gonzales, argufied for the constitution. Then J. A. Wharton argufied for independence; and General Houston made the bulliest speech of all, asking us all to go slow and work together. He and J. A. Wharton almost had a fuss over whether we should declare for independence or the constitution, but Houston won out, when the question was put, more than two to one for the constitution.”

“They had as much trouble as the first Continental Congress did, ’long back there in 1774, when we all were separating from Great Britain,” quoth Dick. “Fact is, the colonies were in about the same fix Texas is. What else did they do?”

“Well, they drew up a sort of a constitution to govern Texas until things are settled. They elected Henry Smith, of Columbia, governor; he got thirty-one votes and Austin got twenty-two. J. W. Robinson, of Nacogdoches, is lieutenant governor. Mr. Archer and W. H. Wharton and Austin were appointed commissioners to the United States to get a loan of a million. The capital is moved to Brazoria. And Sam Houston was made commander-in-chief of the armies of Texas, with rank of major-general, and told to raise a regular army of ’leven hundred and twenty men, like the regular army of the United States. Then some thought of making Austin commander-in-chief, but it looked like he could do better work in the United States. Anyhow, only one vote was cast against Houston, so I reckon he’s all right.”

“Right!” exclaimed Dick, amidst a general hum of approval. “He’s a soldier; he’s been trained in soldiering. And he’s as big inside as he is outside. Austin’s got the pluck, but he hasn’t got the strength. He’s the man for visiting the United States; but Houston’s the man this kind of an army needs in the field. What was said about the volunteers?”

“Well, there was a committee report on us volunteers. It said no laws had been passed to support us, but we ought to be treated so we’d stay out till enough regulars had been raised to take our places.”

“Is Houston coming on, did you hear?”

“No; don’t reckon he is. He’s got to hustle ’round and raise that new army. But we don’t need him, or the regulars either, do we? Jiminy, you ought to see those New Orleans Grays, from the United States. Two companies of fifty men each, all uniformed in gray and armed with muskets given ’em by Texas. When one company passed through Nacogdoches a lot of Chief Bowles’s Cherokees were there. The Injuns’ eyes stuck out and old Bowles wanted to know if these were ‘Jackson men’ and if any more were coming. ‘Sure they are!’ said Mr. Sterne, who was the Texas man that enlisted ’em in New Orleans. ‘How many more?’ asked old Bowles. ‘Count the hairs on your head,’ said Sterne. Every Injun lit out of town as fast as he could go, and I reckon we won’t have any trouble with those Cherokees!”

“Houston’ll hold ’em down, anyhow,” declared Dick. “How close are those Grays?”

“Be here to-morrow,” answered Leo. “And I heard tell at San Felipe that more volunteers are being enlisted in Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Kentucky, and Ohio, and everywhere. There’s a Mississippi company right behind the Grays, and also a company from East Texas.”

It certainly seemed good to have Leo in camp again. The next day the Grays arrived—two companies, in natty gray uniforms, marching like soldiers, and commanded by Captain Breese and Captain Robert Morris. They were welcomed by rounds of cheers, and were assigned to a camping spot. Following close arrived the Mississippi company, Captain Peacock; and the East Texas company, Captain English; and a twelve-pounder cannon.

Things were looking more lively. To be sure, counting the reinforcements, there were only 800 men; but every one appeared ready to oust those Mexican soldiers from Bejar immediately. General Austin, too, had taken heart; and from his headquarters, where he was obliged to stay much of the time, ill and miserable, on this night of November 21 he issued the orders that Bejar was to be stormed at three o’clock in the morning of the 23rd.

So speedily the news spread through the camp that Ernest and Jim heard it before they went to sleep; Leo heard it, and so did Sion; practically everybody heard it, from their officers and other comrades. San Antonio was to be captured at dawn, on the day after to-morrow!

“All right,” said Jim, sleepily. “I guess we can do it.”

Good old Jim! But Ernest had rather a hard time drowsing off. He kept seeing the cannon and the soldiers shooting from the walls and roof-tops of the Alamo and of Bejar; and hearing Jim Bowie describe again how strong the fortifications were. However, these were no thoughts for a Texas Volunteer. Maybe the job would not be so difficult as was imagined. Those Mexicans didn’t aim very straight. Anyway—heigh-yum. Orders were orders.

The next day opened with excitement and determination. One after another the scouting patrols came riding in. They had been sent for to join in the attack. Arms and other equipment were prepared; and in little groups the men talked; some laughed and joked, others were grave, but all seemed enthusiastic.

Then, along in the afternoon, a shadow seemed to pass over the busy camp. Ernest sensed it; so did Jim; so did Sion and Leo. The men were still determined, but the word was passed about that William Wharton, the judge-advocate, and several other officers questioned whether it was wise to storm the fortifications, quite yet—and that Sam Houston, the new commander-in-chief, had written a letter advising against it.

“He says it’ll take two thousand men,” was the report. “He ought to know—he’s a military man. Austin isn’t commander-in-chief any longer.”

“Maybe we ought to wait for him.”

“Maybe we ought to wait for more reinforcements.”

“If we’re going to wait, we needn’t wait in this place. I don’t want to camp out in many more northers. I near plumb froze.”

“Those fellows make me tired,” complained Jim. “They’ve been itching to fight and be done, and now they’re kicking. What do we care about Houston and Wharton and the rest? We’ve got enough men to take Bejar. Houston isn’t there and we are.”

Late that afternoon it was rumored that John W. Smith, an American surveyor of Bejar, had smuggled out to General Austin a complete plan of the fortifications in the town, and that Dr. James Grant, another engineer, had pronounced them excellent as a guide.

In spite of the grumblings, the two divisions of the army were paraded under arms and inspected, at sun-down; General Austin made a speech of encouragement; and upon dismissal the company commanders were ordered to turn their commands out before dawn and assemble them at the old mill at three o’clock.

After the dismissal of the parade, another strange thing occurred. Sion trudged over from his mess, in the dark, against orders, to debate the matter with his two cronies. In fact, the whole camp was uneasy, and sleeping not at all.

“Hello,” greeted Sion. “Say, did you fellows get asked by any officer whether you’d attack Bejar or not?”

“We sure did,” responded Jim. “And we said ‘yes.’ But a lot of ’em crawfished. I reckon we’re going, just the same.”

“I dunno,” opposed Sion, gloomily. “A lot of our fellows are on the fence, too. They think maybe we’re in a little too much hurry—had better wait a bit and make certain with more troops and cannon that Houston’s collecting. If we got wiped out in this one scrimmage that’d hold Texas for a while. Santa Anna’d simply smother what was left of us, and we’d never have another chance. Well, I can’t stay. I’m supposed to be where I belong, ready for three o’clock. See you in the morning.” And he trudged away.

“Shucks!” muttered Jim. “Looks as if we were going to back water, after all. Isn’t this the funniest army you ever were in?”

“I should say,” agreed Ernest—which was very true. “Wonder if they’re the same in Leo’s company?”

“It would be pretty hard on Texas families to have their men folks killed and nothing gained,” mused Jim. “I guess I don’t blame some of the troops for having two minds, now when it comes to the scratch and the odds are so big against us. If we didn’t take Bejar—whew! For we’d all fight till we were dead, that’s sure.”

Shortly after midnight Ernest was aroused from an uneasy sleep by a fresh stir among the prone lines. This is what had happened: Lieutenant-Colonel Philip Sublett, who now commanded their division, the second (for Colonel Bowie was already under orders to take dispatches to Goliad), had awakened General Austin, at headquarters, and had told him that the majority of the second division were in favor of postponing the attack. General Austin had sent for Colonel Ed. Burleson, of the First Division, and inquired of him; and Colonel Burleson had made a similar report.

Now Mr. Frank W. Johnson, the adjutant-general, was investigating for the general, to make certain; he was inquiring among the company officers. As the result, at three o’clock the companies, instead of being paraded for the attack, were ordered to stay as they were. There would be no attack. Colonel Burleson had offered to lead his division, anyway—that is, as many as would follow him; and the New Orleans Grays and the other United States volunteers were ready; but the Texan volunteers—shucks, as said Jim.

Leo and Sion and Jim and Ernest gathered after breakfast and talked the matter over. The whole camp was talking and arguing.

“You fellows in your division aren’t worth sour apples!” accused Leo, hotly, of Sion. “First you wanted to fight, and now you don’t.”

“We aren’t any worse than you are in your division,” retorted Sion. “Your colonel reported first. Burleson said he’d lead us—as many as would go.”

“According to the tell,” spoke Jim, “there aren’t more than a hundred of the Texan volunteers who would go.”

“Well, I’d go,” asserted Leo. “But there are a lot of us fellows who have our families to think of. We didn’t come here to be killed if we could do just as much without being killed. We thought there’d be a bigger army. I tell you, this is a serious proposition, to send only eight hundred men, just volunteers, against a fort with plenty cannon and upward of a thousand trained regulars.”

“This army’s figuring too close,” blurted Sion. “We’ve hung ’round here so long that we’ve talked ourselves tired, and some of our best men have gone home.”

“It’s pretty tough on General Austin,” proposed Ernest. “He’s about sick over it—and he was sick anyway.”

“That’s so,” agreed they all. “First we were sore because he wouldn’t let us attack Bejar, and now we won’t attack it when he tells us to!”

“He’ll have to leave us, anyway, and go to the United States,” remarked Leo. “Expect he’d like to have finished this job first, though.”

This day a council of war was held, and was reported to have about decided that if Bejar did not surrender before winter set in, the army ought to be moved into winter quarters at Goliad, where there were provisions and shelter. The next day, which was the 24th, a general parade was ordered, at which General Austin made a farewell address. He said that he was required by the Texas government to leave at once, and visit the United States, to raise money for the Texan cause. But he requested that his going should make no difference in the plans against Bejar; he hoped that the army would stay right there, and press the siege hard, until General Cos either surrendered or else was so weakened that a short attack would end matters in a hurry.

He complained or scolded not by a word or gesture, did General Austin, and the troops showed their love for him by volleys of cheers.

When he had finished, Adjutant-General Johnson called for all those men who would pledge themselves to stay before Bejar until it was taken to step forward. Forward stepped, at once, more than half the army: Jim and Ernest, side by side, and Dick Carroll and almost all the Gonzales and Colorado men; the Brazos companies; and over in the First Division Sion, too (as Ernest wagered with himself), among the others.

Colonel Burleson was immediately elected commander to succeed General Austin. On the morning after the parade and the farewell address General Austin left for his home in San Felipe; thence to report to Governor Smith and proceed with the two other commissioners to the United States.

Everybody had confidence in General Burleson, and he had been unanimously elected. But now the army did not seem to know what they would like. Things were at sixes and sevens. Some of the men still wanted to storm Bejar; others wanted to wait; others wanted to go home until the regulars were organized. Even the volunteers from the United States were dissatisfied, and claimed that Texas had called them in under false pretences—they had been promised fighting and glory, and they were getting nothing of the kind.

To be sure, on the next day, November 26th, there was a smart little battle, by accident. About two o’clock in the afternoon Deaf Smith came at a gallop into camp, with the alarm that he had spied Ugartechea, at last, approaching Bejar from the other side, with a mule train of money for the Mexican soldiers.

Now the camp woke up in a hurry; orders to “Fall in! Fall in!” echoed right and left; there was a great scramble for guns and horses, and everybody yelled “Ugartechea! All out to capture Ugartechea!” Away sped Colonel Bowie with a troop—Deaf Smith guiding; and as fast as they could the main army followed after, the New Orleans Grays and the Mississippians under Captain Peacock being especially eager to show what they could do.

When Ernest and Jim, in the Captain Dickinson company with the main army, arrived near the place told of by Deaf Smith, the firing had begun. Colonel Bowie’s troop already had charged, and the Mexicans were fighting back from an arroyo, or dry stream-bed. A detachment of other Mexicans were hastening out from Bejar, which was only a mile away; and Colonel Bowie had been forced to turn and try to stop them.

It looked like quite a “scrimmage,” as Jim expressed.

“Forward, boys! Don’t let Bowie do it all,” urged young Captain Dickinson.

The horses broke into a gallop; the infantry into a run; and with wild cheers forward raced the Texan army. But the Mexicans in the arroyo had united with the rescuing party, and both were retreating for the town.

“They’ve left their pack-mules and panniers, anyhow,” panted Jim. “We’ll get the treasure. Hooray!”

“Hooray! Hooray!” cheered all, riding, running, and firing.

The Mexicans were dropping; some of the fallen were picked up and carried on; others were left; the retreat became a rout, and helter-skelter the survivors gained, just in nick of time, the shelter of the town. It was estimated that they had lost fifty killed, and as many wounded. No one was killed, on the Texan side, and only two wounded.

“Who says we can’t take Bejar if we want to?” bragged Leo, as his company joined with Jim’s and Ernest’s, and the horses puffed together.

“Toler’ble easy, toler’ble easy,” grinned Jim. “Reckon you and I and Ernest and Sion could take it ourselves, some day when we were feeling right pert.”

“But I didn’t see Ugartechea; did you?” demanded Ernest.

“No, Well see what’s in those mule panniers, though, I’d surely admire to get a few pesos to spend. Need it more than those Mexican soldados.”

Hopes ran high, for the mule panniers (pairs of wicker baskets) looked bulky. But when they were felt, by the officers, they felt suspiciously soft; and when they were “hefted,” they felt suspiciously light. And when one was opened, on the spot, it contained only freshly cut grass.

At camp was it found that they all contained nothing but grass—forage for the Cos horses. So the “Grass Fight” was this “scrimmage” dubbed, and many were the jokes levelled at Deaf Smith.

“Shows that Cos is getting mighty hard up for fodder, anyhow,” commented Leo, when the boys met in camp. “First he tried to get rid of thirty horses, to save feed, and now he’s having to send out and cut grass.”

Despite such proof of the straits of the garrison in Bejar, the Texan army continued rather disgruntled. The excitement over the Grass Fight soon passed. Dr. James Grant headed a scheme to march down to Matamoros in Mexico across the Rio Grande, and capture it, and continue on. Over 200 of the men agreed to enlist under him; they said that 150 others were coming from the United States to join them on the way, and that several thousand Mexican patriots were waiting to help. Jim and Ernest talked the matter over, and decided that they’d “stick,” just the same. Sion and Leo said they’d stick, too. But the Grant plan looked very inviting.

Then, on December 3rd, from Bejar arrived three more Americans. They were Sam Maverick, and Mr. Holmes and John W. Smith, who, having been prisoners all this time, had run the sentries and escaped. They asserted that Bejar was ready to fall; the troops there were pinched for supplies, and were so frightened that they couldn’t half fight—didn’t want to fight, either. The way the Texans charged had scared them half to death.

Great news was this; and when that night another council of war was held at General Burleson’s tent, an assault seemed certainly being planned, and daybreak of the next morning was rumored as the probable time.

Again the camp was stirred, and little sleep was possible.

“We’re going to attack at daylight!”

“Captain Dickinson says we’re going to attack at daybreak!”

“How do you know?”

“Well, that’s the tell.”

“Haven’t had any orders, have we?”

“Don’t need ’em. We’ll just r’ar up and fight and then eat breakfast.”

“Eat grass, you mean.”

They were going to fight. They weren’t going to fight. Until Jim growled to Ernest:

“Aw, blame it all! Let’s sleep first and then fight.”

The report passed around that volunteers were to be led in three columns, guided by Deaf Smith, John W. Smith (the engineer), and Henry Arnold. Nearly all night the light burned in the headquarters tent, where sat the council of war. But with dawn, when the orders to advance should have been given, instead there came the announcement that the attack had been postponed once more! Henry Arnold, the guide, had disappeared, and probably had deserted, to warn the garrison!

“Take Bejar anyway, and hang Arnold!” spread the angry cry.

“Traitor! The first Texas traitor!”

“Bejar! Bejar!”

“Boys!” called a Texan, striding rapidly through the Captain Dickinson company’s camp, “it’s all off. We’re to quit and go into winter quarters at Goliad. Get our orders this afternoon. I’ve just learned that straight, and I know.”

Ernest and Jim stared at one another.

“Oh, thunder!” gasped Jim. “Quit, and squat some more? If it hadn’t have been for that Arnold——! Let’s find Leo and Sion.”

They found Leo and Sion, who had heard the same news.

“I’ll go to Matamoros, then,” vowed Leo. “Or else I’ll stay home. But you can bet that I don’t sit in that Goliad all winter.”

They agreed on Matamoros; and many were the other protests, on every side. But sure enough, at two o’clock in the afternoon the orders were issued for the camp to break up and march on the back trail at seven o’clock that evening. The siege of Bejar was to be raised.

Sullenly and regretfully the men went about their tasks of preparing to leave—when suddenly, toward sun-down, Leo came running and excited to where Ernest and Jim sat rebelliously putting last patches on their boots, for the prospective journey.

“Hurry up!” bade Leo. “To headquarters, quick! Arnold’s back, and a Mexican deserter, and there’s something going on. If you don’t get there you’ll be too late.”

Away they dashed, following the generous Leo. Before the tent of General Burleson a considerable crowd had gathered. Sion was there, of course; and Dick Carroll, and Henry Karnes, and Captain Dickinson, and Captain Travis, and many others. Colonel Milam could be glimpsed, inside the tent, where voices were arguing.

“Arnold’s all right,” informed Sion. “He was just scouting ’round, preliminary, and met up with that Mexican lieutenant deserting to us, and fetched him along in. The lieutenant says Bejar is our meat—busted wide open, and Cos can’t hardly hold his men together. And they don’t suspect any attack.”

At that moment Colonel Milam abruptly stepped out, through the tent flaps. He faced the crowd, and snatching off his wide-brimmed hat swung it high.

“Who will go with old Ben Milam into San Antonio?” he shouted.