Travis shrugged. Who was he to say that Ord was crazy? In this day and age,
any man with vision was looked on as mad. Sometimes he felt closer to Ord
than to the others.
* * * * *
The two officers Ord had summoned entered the chapel. The big man in the
Mexican jacket tried to dominate the wood table at which they sat. He
towered over the slender, nervous Travis, but the commandant,
straight-backed and arrogant, did not give an inch. "Boys, you know Santa
Anna has invested us. We've been fired on all day--" He seemed to be
listening for something. _Wham!_ Outside, a cannon split the dusk with
flame and sound as it fired from the walls. "There is my answer!"
The man in the lounge coat shrugged. "What I want to know is what our
orders are. What does old Sam say? Sam and me were in Congress once. Sam's
got good sense; he can smell the way the wind's blowin'." He stopped
speaking and hit his guitar a few licks. He winked across the table at the
officer in the Mexican jacket who took out his knife. "Eh, Jim?"
"Right," Jim said. "Sam's a good man, although I don't think he ever met a
payroll."
"General Houston's leaving it up to me," Travis told them.
"Well, that's that," Jim said unhappily. "So what you figurin' to do,
Bill?"
Travis stood up in the weak, flickering candlelight, one hand on the
polished hilt of his saber. The other two men winced, watching him.
"Gentlemen, Houston's trying to pull his militia together while he falls
back. You know, Texas was woefully unprepared for a contest at arms. The
general's idea is to draw Santa Anna as far into Texas as he can, then hit
him when he's extended, at the right place, and right time. But Houston
needs more time--Santa Anna's moved faster than any of us anticipated.
Unless we can stop the Mexican Army and take a little steam out of them,
General Houston's in trouble."