THE SKIRMISH IN THE NIGHT.
The great gate stockade at the southeastern corner of the Alamo, near
the church, was closed. There seemed to be no patrol outside of the
wall and all was quiet within, but a solitary sentry paced to and fro
at the gate, with his rifle over his shoulder. He was considering the
situation as he walked, for he remarked, as if to the shadows around
him,--
"This yer fort is pretty much taking ker of itself, but the Greasers
don't know it. Thar ain't any of 'em nigh enough to come for it,
anyhow. Ef they did, what thar is of us could give up this 'ere
outside cattle-pen and retreat into the fort. We'd hev to give up the
church, but we could garrison the Convent till help got yer. That's
all we could do."
At that moment his rifle came down, for he heard a sound of hoofs that
ceased in front of the gate. Out went the muzzle of his piece at a
shot-hole, and he looked along its barrel as he demanded of the rider,--
"Who goes thar?"
"Sam Houston!" came loudly back. "Open quick! I'm followed!"
"Boys!" yelled the sentry. "It's old Sam himself! Come on! I'll git
the gate open!"
"I met Crockett!" shouted Houston. "He's all right. But I've about
ridden this horse to death. Down he goes! They're coming! Lancers!"
Several pairs of hands were busy with the massive bars of the portal,
and two of the men had stationed themselves by the six-pounder gun that
stood there, facing it, like an iron watchman.
Outside, the general stood by his fallen horse, calm and steady as a
tree, with a heavy pistol in each hand.
"I've barely distanced them," he said. "Ready, boys! Give 'em
something!"
Excepting for the sound of their horses' hoofs Houston's pursuers were
making no noise, but they were now dangerously near him.
Open swung the gate, and the men who opened it could see the glitter of
lance-heads in the moonlight.
"Step in, gineral!"
"Jump now! Git out o' the way!"
"Quick, Sam! I want to let 'em have it. Git inside!"
Altogether unceremonious were the rough men of the border in their
hurried greetings to the man whom they really loved and trusted above
other men. He did not seem to hurry, however. It was with a great
deal of natural dignity that he strode through the gate-way. He was
willing to escape the thrusts of those lances, but he felt no throb of
fear.
He was safely away from the range of the six-pounder, and that was all,
when the report of the sentry's rifle at the shot-hole was followed
instantly by the roar of the cannon.
"It was pretty much all the grape we had," said one of the cannoneers,
"but I reckon we kin load her once ag'in. Hope we gethered some on
'em."
It had been short range, just the thing for grape-shot. The lancers
had not dreamed of such a greeting as that in the night, at the very
moment of their supposed success. They had felt all but sure of
striking a blow which would have been to Texas like the defeat of an
army. They had followed their intended victim fast and far. In
tracing his movements from place to place, and in this final dash for
his life, they had exhibited more than a little daring and enterprise.
They were barely a minute too late at the end of their long race, but
they were just in time to be struck by that deadly storm of grape-shot.
Down went horses and men. Down went flashing lance-points and
fluttering pennons, while loud cries of pain, and execrations, and
shouts of astonishment told how terrible had been the effect of "about
the last grist of it that we had in the fort."
"Load up, boys!" said Houston. "Close the gate. That's all there is
of that crowd."
"Thar they go, what's left of 'em," replied the sentry.
The fort had not been left without an officer, however, and another
voice shouted,--
"Steady! Men! Lanterns! A detail of six. I'll go out and see what
we did with that grape."
The lanterns were already coming, and Houston himself marched out with
the detail. He stooped to look into the face of a Mexican who had
fallen several paces in advance of the others.
"Colonel Jose Canales!" he exclaimed. "Well, boys, Santa Anna has lost
one of the bravest men in his whole army. I'm glad he hasn't many more
like him."
"Eight killed and three wounded, counting him in," responded a ranger.
"It's the uniform of the Tampico regiment. Canales took his best men
for this hunt. Mr. Houston, you've had a narrow escape this time. You
mustn't ever do it ag'in. You ort to be locked up. You'd no business
to run such a risk!"
"Why, boys," said the general, "I was uneasy about the fort. Crockett
told me more than I knew before, and I came right on to inspect."
"Inspect thunder!" exclaimed the officer in command, a slight-looking
fellow in a buckskin shirt and tow trousers for uniform. "Thar isn't
much to inspect. What we want is more men and more rifles, and more
powder and lead."
"Tell you what, Houston," added the gunner who had fired off the grape,
"don't you know? If the Greasers came into Texas, this is the first
p'int they'd make for. They'll want it bad."
"What's more just now, gineral," shouted a half-angry ranger, "'twasn't
your place to lose yer skelp a-comin'. The rest o' the boys feel jest
as I do. You mustn't try on sech a fool caper ag'in. Texas can't
afford to throw ye away 'bout now. Ef you was wiped out things 'ud go
to pieces."
The protests of the brave riflemen were exceedingly free, but they were
utterly sincere. They were freemen, talking to a man who perfectly
understood them. He therefore apologized, explained, promised
faithfully to do better next time, and they let him up.
Far away, beyond the belt of chaparral and the long ravine, another
Texan patriot, as devoted as Houston, sat by his covered camp-fire in
the grove, and it seemed as if he were echoing the words of the
garrison of the Alamo.
"Arms and ammunition," he said. "There won't be any lack of men if we
can feed 'em. But a Mexican with a _machete_ or a lance might put
under a rifleman out o' powder."
He was silent for a moment, and then he added,--
"I mustn't get myself killed on this trip. If I do, Houston 'll never
know about that pile in the _adobe_ hole. I'll be more careful than I
ever was before."
He was not noted for special care concerning his personal safety, but
he now arose and went around the camp, from man to man and from horse
to horse. He seemed to be all alert, watchful. There was to be no
surprise of that camp for any fault of his.
It was now getting well on into the night. Only a little earlier there
had been a slight movement of the shadowy form that was crouching at
the side of the boulder at the sink-hole.
"Ugh!" muttered Red Wolf, but he said no more, as he peered eagerly
over the rock.
Only such ears as his could have caught a few low sounds that floated
toward him on the night-wind. They were cautiously-spoken words in the
Comanche tongue, and the speakers were within a hundred feet of him.
"Sink-hole," he heard them say. "No Texans there. Big Knife took them
to the water. Go bring Great Bear. We find Big Knife."
There he lost several words, but it was plain enough. These were only
an advance party. They had sent a brave back to guide their main body,
and were themselves to ride on to make sure of the Texans being at the
camp-ground so well known to Indian hunters. One of their number was
to remain at the sink-hole.
"Trap Big Knife?" thought Red Wolf. "No. Heap eye. Texan sleep.
Great chief wait for Comanches."
He evidently had great confidence in his hero, and he hardly breathed
while several horsemen went by, leaving a solitary brave to mount guard
at the outer side of the boulder.
He was very near. It was almost certain that before long he would
discover whatever might be living near him if it moved. It would be
useless, therefore, for Red Wolf to try to escape on foot that he might
warn the camp. It would be even greater folly to go down into the
sink-hole after his mustang. It was hardly safe, at first, to risk the
slight motion required in fitting an arrow to the string. He must
wait, he thought. But if he did, what about the Texans if Big Knife
should lie down and go to sleep? Even that small party of Comanche
warriors might dash in and take a scalp or stampede the horses. They
were very dangerous fellows on a warpath or prowling around an enemy's
camp.
"Ugh!" exclaimed the Comanche, wheeling his horse and lowering his
lance.
Red Wolf's mustang had not been at all comfortable down there in the
dark. He had picked grass and he had stepped up and down at the end of
his tether. He had heard hoofs go by. Now he was aware of the
presence of another horse near him, and he sent up short neighs of
inquiry. He uttered the mustang words for,--
"Hullo, pony, who are you?"
The Comanche at once responded,--
"Where are you? Hey?"
"Horse in hole!" exclaimed the warrior. "Where Texan? Where Lipan?"
He listened a moment, and again the animals spoke to each other.
"Ugh!" said the Comanche. "Texan go away and leave pony. Go take him.
Heap brave!"
It was a piece of reckless daring, indeed, to go down alone into that
blind hollow. There might be something much more dangerous than a pony
lurking there. Again assuring himself, however, that he was a great
brave and afraid of nothing, he sprang to the ground. He tethered his
own pony, laid aside his bow and lance and club and drew his knife. He
adjusted his shield upon his left arm, and then he was ready.
His worst peril was not in the hole. While he was making his rapid
preparations Red Wolf made his own. His arrow was in its place now,
and he was almost lying flat at the corner of the boulder.
There was not light enough for long-range archery, but now the Comanche
brave stepped stealthily forward, knife in hand, his shield up, and his
short, hard breathing testifying his intense excitement. He slipped
along past the rock.
"Twang" went the Lipan boy's bowstring, and he sprang to his feet,
drawing his own knife as he did so,--the splendid present of Bowie, the
white hero.
Loud, fierce, agonized, was the yell of the stricken warrior, but even
in his agony he whirled around to face his unexpected assailant. He
had strength yet, for he sprang at Red Wolf like a wounded wildcat.
Away darted the son of Castro, but his enemy, a man of size and muscle,
was close behind him. But that he was already mortally hurt he would
have made short work of the young bowman.
Back and forth among the shadows bounded and dodged the ill-matched
combatants. Red Wolf had no shield, and his knife glanced more than
once from the smooth, hard bison-hide of his opponent's round buckler.
"Ugh!" screeched the Comanche at the end of a terrific minute, and he
sank into the grass.
[Illustration: "UGH!" SCREECHED THE COMANCHE ... AND HE SANK INTO THE
GRASS]
He had done his best, all the while failing, but now the end had come,
and Red Wolf shortly walked back after the horses. His own mustang was
led out of the hollow, the Comanche pony, a fine one, was taken
possession of, with his late owner's weapons and ornaments and the
much-prized trophy of victory.
"More Comanche come pretty soon," he exclaimed. "Red Wolf take hair.
Tell Big Knife. Tell Castro. Who-op!"
Never before had he sounded so loudly, so triumphantly, the war-cry of
his tribe, but the whoops which answered him did not come from the
direction of the camp. They arose from the northward and told of many
whoopers.
As for the scouting-party, if any of them had turned back to assist
their comrade at the sink-hole, they as yet were silent. So was Red
Wolf now, as he galloped away into the darkness.
The camp was too far away for even a death-whoop to reach it, but
Colonel Bowie's tour of guard duty had led him out at last to a tuft of
sumach-bushes, beyond the easterly border of the grove.
Here he stood, looking out somewhat listlessly, but before long he
uttered a low, sharp exclamation, and brought his rifle to his shoulder.
"They've come!" he said. "I must rouse the boys. It's life or death
this time. How they tracked us here I don't know."
As he glanced along the rifle-barrel he could see dim forms on
horseback glide between him and the starlit horizon. They were at no
great distance, and he turned to send into the camp a piercing whistle.
It reached the ear of every ranger, asleep or awake. Even the horses
seemed to understand that it was a note of alarm, and they began to
step around as if they were in a hurry to get their saddles on. They
need not have been in any anxiety, for when the men sprang to their
feet, rifles in hand, their first care was for their four-footed
comrades.
An immediate reply to Bowie's whistle came also from away out on the
prairie.
"That's the warning whoop of the Lipans," he said to his men. "Red
Wolf is out there somewhere. Hope they won't get him. He shouldn't
ha' whooped."
But Red Wolf had not been unwise, after all. The Comanche scouts were
few in number and they had no desire to be caught between two fires,
Lipans, if there were any, on one side, and the riflemen on the other.
They therefore dashed ahead, and then nearer, louder than before, the
Lipan yell sounded again.
"That's a startler!" exclaimed Bowie. "It isn't the boy! It's a
grown-up screech."
Another of the full-sized startlers came, and a third, a fourth.
In, however, without any more whooping, galloped Red Wolf himself, with
his prizes and his pride and his exceedingly important news.
Closely behind him followed yet another horseman, coming at speed, and,
in a moment more, Bowie stood face to face with Castro, as the Lipan
chief, springing to the ground, strode forward and held out a hand.
"Big Knife here?" he said. "Good. Lipans at Hacienda Dolores pretty
soon. Castro ride back on trail. Find friend. Heap talk by and by."
"All right, chief," said Bowie. "But the Comanches are here. Let Red
Wolf tell what he found. Quick!"
Very rapid indeed was the young warrior's account of his performances,
and Castro seemed to be growing taller in his glorification over such a
feat done by his younger self.
All who heard could fully appreciate, and Red Wolf had quite as much
praise as was good for him.
"Chief!" said Bowie. "Men! It's mount and ride now. Heap the fire.
Pack the bufler meat. Fill the canteens. Get a good ready."
He and Castro had more questions to ask and answer while the swift
preparations went on, and Red Wolf was thoroughly cross-examined.
There were no additional tokens of enemies near the camp, but if the
scouting-party had discovered that the Texans were on guard, another
party of Comanches, halted at the sinkhole, knew that they had lost a
comrade and that he had fallen by the hand of an Indian. The Texans
did not use arrows nor take scalps. It was a matter for thoughtful
consideration, to be reported to Great Bear.
"Ready now," came at last in a low voice from Bowie. "Mount! Lead
ahead, chief. We can get a good start of 'em before daylight."
It was well to have Castro for a guide, but it was mainly due to Red
Wolf that they dared to stir out of camp and cover at all. But for the
information he brought of the exact situation, prudence might have
bidden them to remain and fight behind the trees, in the belief that
overwhelming numbers were around them.
As it was, no Comanche knew of the departure from the camp. Even when
the first reinforcements arrived, all that the red cavalry deemed it
well to do, without the personal presence and orders of Great Bear, was
to ride slowly around the grove and make sure that nobody in it should
have a chance to get away. The fire was blazing high, and they thought
of what marksmen among the trees and bushes were ready to shoot by the
light of it. There was nothing to gain by over-haste, and they waited.
All the while, across the southward prairie, Bowie and his men rode on,
and now they knew, from Castro, that General Bravo and his lancers had
been seen along the line of the Rio Grande.
"We can keep out of his way," said the colonel, "but, next thing to
outracing Great Bear, I want to get a sight of Tetzcatl. I reckon
he'll kind o' come up out o' the ground just when we don't expect him."
"Ugh!" said Castro. "Heap snake. Heap lie. No want him."