The Texan Scouts by Joseph A. Altsheler

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"I reckon you an' me, Hank, will ride toward the Alamo."

"I reckon we will, Deaf, and that right away."

Inside of five minutes they were on the road, armed and provisioned, the
best two borderers, with the single exception of the Panther, in all the
southwest. They were mounted on powerful mustangs, which, with proper
handling and judicious rests, could go on forever. But they pushed them
a little that afternoon, stopped for two hours after sundown, and then
went on again. They crossed the Colorado River in the night, swimming
their horses, and about a mile further on stopped in dense chaparral.
They tethered the mustangs near them, and spread out their blankets.

"If anything comes the horses will wake us," said Smith.

"I reckon they will," said Karnes.

Both were fast asleep in a few minutes, but they awoke shortly after
sunrise. They made a frugal breakfast, while the mustangs had cropped
short grass in the night. Both horses and men, as tough and wiry as they
ever become, were again as fresh as the dawn, and, with not more than a
dozen words spoken, the two mounted and rode anew on their quest. Always
chary of speech, they became almost silence itself as they drew nearer
to San Antonio de Bexar. In the heart of each was a knowledge of the
great tragedy, not surmise, but the certainty that acute intelligence
deduces from facts.

They rode on until, by a simultaneous impulse, the two reined their
horses back into a cypress thicket and waited. They had seen three
horsemen on the sky line, coming, in the main, in their direction. Their
trained eyes noticed at once that the strangers were of varying figure.
The foremost, even at the distance, seemed to be gigantic, the second
was very long and thin, and the third was normal. Smith and Karnes
watched them a little while, and then Karnes spoke in words of true
conviction.

"It would be hard, Deaf, for even a bad eye to mistake the foremost."

"Right you are, Hank. You might comb Texas with a fine-tooth comb an'
you'd never rake out such another."

"If that ain't Mart Palmer, the Ring Tailed Panther, I'll go straight to
Santa Anna an' ask him to shoot me as a fool."

"You won't have to go to Santa Anna."

Smith rode from the covert, put his curved hand to his mouth, and
uttered a long piercing cry. The three horsemen stopped at once, and the
giant in the lead gave back the signal in the same fashion. Then the two
little parties rode rapidly toward each other. While they were yet fifty
yards apart they uttered words of hail and good fellowship, and when
they met they shook hands with the friendship that has been sealed by
common hardships and dangers.

"You're goin' toward the Alamo?" said Smith.

"Yes," replied the Panther. "We started that way several days ago, but
we've been delayed. We had a brush with one little party of Mexicans,
and we had to dodge another that was too big for us. I take it that you
ride for the same place."

"We do. Were you with Fannin?"

The dark face of the Panther grew darker.

"We were," he replied. "He started to the relief of the Alamo, but the
ammunition wagon broke down, an' they couldn't get the cannon across the
San Antonio River. So me an' Obed White an' Will Allen here have come on
alone."

"News for news," said Smith dryly. "Texas has just been made a free an'
independent republic, an' Sam Houston has been made commander-in-chief
of all its mighty armies, horse, foot an' cannon. We saw all them things
done back there at Washington settlement, an' we, bein' a part of the
army, are ridin' to the relief of the Alamo."

"We j'in you, then," said the Panther, "an' Texas raises two armies of
the strength of three an' two to one of five. Oh, if only all the Texans
had come what a roarin' an' rippin' an' t'arin' and chawin' there would
have been when we struck Santa Anna's army, no matter how big it might
be."

"But they didn't come," said Smith grimly, "an' as far as I know we five
are all the Texans that are ridin' toward San Antonio de Bexar an' the
Alamo."

"But bein' only five won't keep us from ridin' on," said the Panther.

"And things are not always as bad as they look," said Obed White, after
he had heard of the messenger who had come to Houston and Unmet. "It's
never too late to hope."

The five rode fast the remainder of the day. They passed through a
silent and desolate land. They saw a few cabins, but every one was
abandoned. The deep sense of tragedy was over them all, even over young
Will Allen. They rarely spoke, and they rode along in silence, save for
the beat of their horses' hoofs. Shortly before night they met a lone
buffalo hunter whom the Panther knew.

"Have you been close to San Antonio, Simpson?" asked the Panther, after
the greeting.

"I've been three or four days hangin' 'roun' the neighborhood," replied
the hunter. "I came down from the northwest when I heard that Santa Anna
was advancing an' once I thought I'd make a break an' try to get into
the Alamo, but the Mexican lines was drawed too thick an' close."

"Have you heard anything about the men inside?" asked the Panther
eagerly.

"Not a thing. But I've noticed this. A mornin' an' evenin' gun was fired
from the fortress every day until yesterday, Sunday, an' since
then--nothin'."

The silence in the little band was as ominous as the silence of the
morning and evening gun. Simpson shook his head sadly.

"Boys," he said, "I'm goin' to ride for Gonzales an' join Houston. I
don't think it's any use for me to be hangin' aroun' San Antonio de
Bexar any longer. I wish you luck in whatever you're tryin' to do."

He rode away, but the five friends continued their course toward the
Alamo, without hope now, but resolved to see for themselves. Deep in the
night, which fortunately for their purpose was dark, heavy clouds
shutting out the moon and stars, they approached San Antonio from the
east. They saw lights, which they knew were those of the town, but there
was darkness only where they knew the Alamo stood.

They tethered their horses in some bushes and crept closer, until they
could see the dim bulk of the Alamo. No light shone there. They listened
long and intently, but not a single sound came from the great hecatomb.
Again they crept nearer. There were no Mexican guards anywhere. A little
further and they stood by the low northern wall.

"Boys," said the Panther, "I can't stand it any longer. Queer feelin's
are runnin' all over me. No, I'm goin' to take the risk, if there is
any, all alone. You wait for me here, an' if I don't come back in an
hour then you can hunt for me."

The Panther climbed over the wall and disappeared. The others remained
in the deepest shadow waiting and silent. They were oppressed by the
heavy gloom that hung over the Alamo. It was terrifying to young Will
Allen, not the terror that is caused by the fear of men, but the terror
that comes from some tragic mystery that is more than half guessed.

Nearly an hour passed, when a great figure leaped lightly from the wall
and joined them. The swarthy face of the Panther was as white as chalk,
and he was shivering.

"Boys," he whispered, "I've seen what I never want to see ag'in. I've
seen red, red everywhere. I've been through the rooms of the Alamo, an'
they're red, splashed with the red blood of men. The water in the ditch
was stained with red, an' the earth all about was soaked with it.
Somethin' awful must have happened in the Alamo. There must have been a
terrible fight, an' I'm thinkin' that most of our fellows must have died
before it was took. But it's give me the creeps, boys, an' I think we'd
better get away."

"We can't leave any too quick to please me," said Will Alien. "I'm
seeing ghosts all the time."

"Now that we know for sure the Alamo has fallen," said Smith, "nothin'
is to be gained by stayin' here. It's for Sam Houston to lead us to
revenge, and the more men he has the better. I vote we ride for
Gonzales."

"Seein' what we can see as we go," said Karnes. "The more information we
can pick up on the way about the march of the Mexicans the better it
will be for Houston."

"No doubt of that," said the Panther. "When we go to roarin' an' rippin'
an' t'arin' we must know what we're about. But come on, boys, all that
red in the Alamo gives me conniption fits."

They rode toward the east for a long time until they thought they were
beyond the reach of Mexican skirmishing parties, and then they slept in
a cypress thicket, Smith and Karnes standing guard by turns. As
everybody needed rest they did not resume their journey the next day
until nearly noon, and they spent most of the afternoon watching for
Mexican scouts, although they saw none. They had a full rest that night
and the next day they rode slowly toward Gonzales.

About the middle of the afternoon, as they reached the crest of a swell,
Will Allen uttered an exclamation, and pointed toward the eastern
horizon. There they saw a single figure on horseback, and another
walking beside it. The afternoon sun was very bright, casting a glow
over the distant figures, and, shading their eyes with their hands, they
gazed at them a long time.

"It's a woman that's ridin'," said Smith at last, "an' she's carryin'
some sort of a bundle before her."

"You're shorely right, Deaf," said Karnes, "an' I think the one walkin'
is a black fellow. Looks like it from here."

"I'm your way of thinkin'," said the Panther, "an' the woman on the
horse is American, or I'm mightily fooled in my guess. S'pose we ride
ahead faster an' see for shore."

They increased the speed of their mustangs to a gallop and rapidly
overhauled the little party. They saw the woman trying to urge her horse
to greater speed. But the poor beast, evidently exhausted, made no
response. The woman, turning in the saddle, looked back at her pursuers.

"By all that's wonderful!" exclaimed Obed White, "the bundle that she's
carrying is a baby!"

"It's so," said Smith, "an' you can see well enough now that she's one
of our own people. We must show her that she's got nothin' to fear from
us."

He shouted through his arched hands in tremendous tones that they were
Texans and friends. The woman stopped, and as they galloped up she would
have fallen from her horse had not Obed White promptly seized her and,
dismounting, lifted her and the baby tenderly to the ground. The colored
boy who had been walking stood by and did not say anything aloud, but
muttered rapidly: "Thank the Lord! Thank the Lord!"

Three of the five were veteran hunters, but they had never before found
such a singular party on the prairie. The woman sat down on the ground,
still holding the baby tightly in her arms, and shivered all over. The
Texans regarded her in pitying silence for a few minutes, and then Obed
White said in gentle tones:

"We are friends, ready to take you to safety. Tell us who you are."

"I am Mrs. Dickinson," she replied.

"Deaf" Smith looked startled.

"There was a Lieutenant Dickinson in the Alamo," he said.

"I am his wife," she replied, "and this is our child."

"And where is----" Smith stopped suddenly, knowing what the answer must
be.

"He is dead," she replied. "He fell in the defence of the Alamo."

"Might he not be among the prisoners?" suggested Obed White gently.

"Prisoners!" she replied. "There were no prisoners. They fought to the
last. Every man who was in the Alamo died in its defence."

The five stared at her in amazement, and for a little while none spoke.

"Do you mean to say," asked Obed White, "that none of the Texans
survived the fall of the Alamo?"

"None," she replied.

"How do you know?"

Her pale face filled with color. It seemed that she, too, at that moment
felt some of the glow that the fall of the Alamo was to suffuse through
Texas.

"Because I saw," she replied. "I was in one of the arched rooms of the
church, where they made the last stand. I saw Crockett fall and I saw
the death of Bowie, too. I saw Santa Anna exult, but many, many Mexicans
fell also. It was a terrible struggle. I shall see it again every day of
my life, even if I live to be a hundred."

She covered her face with her hands, as if she would cut out the sight
of that last inferno in the church. The others were silent, stunned for
the time.

"All gone," said Obed White, at last. "When the news is spread that
every man stood firm to the last I think it will light such a fire in
Texas that Santa Anna and all his armies cannot put it out."

"Did you see a boy called Ned Fulton in the Alamo, a tall, handsome
fellow with brown hair and gray eyes?" asked Obed White.

"Often," replied Mrs. Dickinson. "He was with Crockett and Bowie a great
deal."

"And none escaped?" said Will Allen.

"Not one," she repeated, "I did not see him in the church in the final
assault. He doubtless fell in the hospital or in the convent yard. Ah,
he was a friend of yours! I am sorry."

"Yes, he was a friend of ours," said the Panther. "He was more than that
to me. I loved that boy like a son, an' me an' my comrades here mean to
see that the Mexicans pay a high price for his death. An' may I ask,
ma'am, how you come to be here?"

She told him how Santa Anna had provided her with the horse, and had
sent her alone with the proclamation to the Texans. At the Salado Creek
she had come upon the negro servant of Travis, who had escaped from San
Antonio, and he was helping her on the way.

"An' now, ma'am," said "Deaf" Smith, "we'll guard you the rest of the
way to Gonzales."

The two little groups, now fused into one, resumed their journey over
the prairie.

CHAPTER XV

IN ANOTHER TRAP

When Ned Fulton scaled the lowest wall of the Alamo and dropped into the
darkness he ran for a long time. He scarcely knew in what direction he
was going, but he was anxious to get away from that terrible town of San
Antonio de Bexar. He was filled with grief for his friends and anger
against Santa Anna and his people. He had passed through an event so
tremendous in its nature, so intense and fiery in its results, that his
whole character underwent a sudden change. But a boy in years, the man
nevertheless replaced the boy in his mind. He had looked upon the face
of awful things, so awful that few men could bear to behold them.

There was a certain hardening of his nature now. As he ran, and while
the feeling of horror was still upon him, the thought of vengeance
swelled into a passion. The Texans must strike back for what had been
done in the Alamo. Surely all would come when they heard the news that
he was bringing.

He believed that the Texans, and they must be assembled in force
somewhere, would be toward the east or the southeast, at Harrisburg or
Goliad or some other place. He would join them as soon as he could, and
he slackened his pace to a walk. He was too good a borderer now to
exhaust himself in the beginning.

He was overpowered after a while by an immense lethargy. A great
collapse, both physical and mental, came after so much exhaustion. He
felt that he must rest or die. The night was mild, as the spring was now
well advanced in Texas, and he sought a dense thicket in which he might
lie for a while. But there was no scrub or chaparral within easy reach,
and his feeling of lassitude became so great that he stopped when he
came to a huge oak and lay down under the branches, which spread far and
low.

He judged that he was about six miles from San Antonio, a reasonably
safe distance for the night, and, relaxing completely, he fell asleep.
Then nature began her great work. The pulses which were beating so fast
and hard in the hoy's body grew slower and more regular, and at last
became normal. The blood flowed in a fresh and strong current through
his veins. The great physician, minute by minute, was building up his
system again.

Ned's collapse had been so complete that he did not stir for hours. The
day came and the sun rose brilliant in red and gold. The boy did not
stir, but not far away a large animal moved. Ned's tree was at the edge
of a little grassy plain, and upon this the animal stood, with a head
held high and upturned nose sniffing the breeze that came from the
direction of the sleeper.

It was in truth a great animal, one with tremendous teeth, and after
hesitating a while it walked toward the tree under which the boy lay.
Here it paused and again sniffed the air, which was now strong with the
human odor. It remained there a while, staring with great eyes at the
sleeping form, and then went back to the grassy little meadow. It
revisited the boy at intervals, but never disturbed him, and Ned slept
peacefully on.

It was nearly noon when Ned awoke, and he might not have awakened then
had not the sun from its new position sent a shaft of light directly
into his eyes. He saw that his precious rifle was still lying by his
side, and then he sprang to his feet, startled to find by the sun that
it was so late. He heard a loud joyous neigh, and a great bay horse
trotted toward him.

It was Old Jack, the faithful dumb brute, of which he had thought so
rarely during all those tense days in the Alamo. The Mexicans had not
taken him. He was here, and happy chance had brought him and his master
together again. It was so keen a joy to see a friend again, even an
animal, that Ned put his arm around Old Jack's neck, and for the first
time tears came to his eyes.

"Good Old Jack!" he said, patting his horse's nose. "You must have been
waiting here all the time for me. And you must have fared well, too. I
never before saw you looking so fat and saucy."

The finding of the horse simplified Ned's problem somewhat. He had
neither saddle nor bridle, but Old Jack always obeyed him beautifully.
He believed that if it came to the pinch, and it became necessary for
him to ride for his life, he could guide him in the Indian fashion with
the pressure of the knees.

He made a sort of halter of withes which he fastened on Old Jack's head,
and then he sprang upon his bare back, feeling equal to almost anything.
He rode west by south now, his course taking him toward Goliad, and he
went on at a good gait until twilight. A little later he made out the
shapes of wild turkeys, then very numerous in Texas among the boughs of
the trees, and he brought a fine fat one down at the first shot. After
some difficulty he lighted a fire with the flint and steel, which the
Mexicans fortunately had not taken from him, toasted great strips over
the coals, and ate hungrily of juicy and tender wild turkey.

He was all the time aware that his fire might bring danger down upon
him, but he was willing to chance it. After he had eaten enough he took
the remainder of his turkey and rode on. It was a clear, starry night
and, as he had been awake only since noon, he continued until about ten
o'clock, when he again took the turf under a tree for a couch. He
slipped the rude halter from Old Jack, patted him on the head and said:

"Old Jack, after the lofty way in which you have behaved I wouldn't
disgrace you by tying you up for the night. Moreover, I know that you're
the best guard I could possibly have, and so, trusting you implicitly, I
shall go to sleep."

His confidence was justified, and the next morning they were away again
over the prairie. Ned was sure that he would meet roving Texans or
Mexicans before noon, but he saw neither. He surmised that the news of
Santa Anna's great force had sent all the Texans eastward, but the
loneliness and desolation nevertheless weighed upon him.

He crossed several streams, all of them swollen and deep from spring
rains, and every time he came to one he returned thanks again because he
had found Old Jack. The great horse always took the flood without
hesitation, and would come promptly to the other bank.

He saw many deer, and started up several flights of wild turkeys, but he
did not disturb them. He was a soldier now, not a hunter, and he sought
men, not animals. Another night came and found him still alone on the
prairie. As before, he slept undisturbed under the boughs of a tree, and
he awoke the next morning thoroughly sound in body and much refreshed in
mind. But the feeling of hardness, the desire for revenge, remained. He
was continually seeing the merciless face of Santa Anna and the
sanguinary interior of the Alamo. The imaginative quality of his mind
and his sensitiveness to cruelty had heightened the effect produced upon
him.

He continued to ride through desolate country for several days, living
on the game that his rifle brought. He slept one night in an abandoned
cabin, with Old Jack resting in the grass that was now growing rankly at
the door. He came the next day to a great trail, so great in truth that
he believed it to have been made by Mexicans. He did not believe that
there was anywhere a Texan force sufficient to tread out so broad a
road.

He noticed, too, that the hoofs of the horses were turned in the general
direction of Goliad or Victoria, nearer the sea, and he concluded that
this was another strong Mexican army intended to complete the ruin of
infant Texas. He decided to follow, and near nightfall he saw the camp
fires of a numerous force. He rode as near as he dared and reckoned that
there were twelve or fifteen hundred men in the camp. He was sure that
it was no part of the army with which Santa Anna had taken the Alamo.

Ned rode a wide circuit around the camp and continued his ride in the
night. He was forced to rest and sleep a while toward morning, but
shortly after daylight he went forward again to warn he knew not whom.
Two or three hours later he saw two horsemen on the horizon, and he rode
toward them. He knew that if they should prove to be Mexicans Old Jack
was swift enough to carry him out of reach. But he soon saw that they
were Texans, and he hailed them.

The two men stopped and watched him as he approached. The fact that he
rode a horse without saddle or bridle was sufficient to attract their
attention, and they saw, too, that he was wild in appearance, with long,
uncombed hair and torn clothing. They were hunters who had come out from
the little town of Refugio.

Ned hailed them again when he came closer.

"You are Texans and friends?" he said.

"Yes, we are Texans and friends," replied the older of the two men. "Who
are you?"

"My name is Fulton, Edward Fulton, and I come from the Alamo."

"The Alamo? How could that be? How could you get out?"

"I was sent out on an errand by Colonel Crockett, a fictitious errand
for the purpose of saving me, I now believe. But I fell at once into the
hands of Santa Anna. The next morning the Alamo was taken by storm, but
every Texan in it died in its defence. I saw it done."

Then he told to them the same tale that Mrs. Dickinson had told to the
Panther and his little party, adding also that a large Mexican force was
undoubtedly very near.

"Then you've come just in time," said the older man. "We've heard that a
big force under General Urrea was heading for the settlements near the
coast, and Captain King and twenty-five or thirty men are now at Refugio
to take the people away. We'll hurry there with your news and we'll try
to get you a saddle and bridle, too."

"For which I'll be thankful," said Ned.

But he was really more thankful for human companionship than anything
else. He tingled with joy to be with the Texans again, and during the
hours that they were riding to Refugio he willingly answered the
ceaseless questions of the two men, Oldham and Jackson, who wanted to
know everything that had happened at the Alamo. When they reached
Refugio they found there Captain King with less than thirty men who had
been sent by Fannin, as Jackson had said, to bring away the people.

Ned was taken at once to King, who had gathered his men in the little
plaza. He saw that the soldiers were not Texans, that is, men who had
long lived in Texas, but fresh recruits from the United States, wholly
unfamiliar with border ways and border methods of fighting. The town
itself was an old Mexican settlement with an ancient stone church or
mission, after the fashion of the Alamo, only smaller.

"You say that you were in the Alamo, and that all the defenders have
fallen except you?" said the Captain, looking curiously at Ned.

"Yes," replied the boy.

"And that the Mexican force dispatched against the Eastern settlements
is much nearer than was supposed?"

"Yes," replied Ned, "and as proof of my words there it is now."

He had suddenly caught the gleam of lances in a wood a little distance
to the west of the town, and he knew that the Mexican cavalry, riding
ahead of the main army, was at hand. It was a large force, too, one with
which the little band of recruits could not possibly cope in the open.
Captain King seemed dazed, but Ned, glancing at the church, remembered
the Alamo. Every Spanish church or mission was more or less of a
fortress, and he exclaimed:

"The church, Captain, the church! We can hold it against the cavalry!"

"Good!" cried the Captain. "An excellent idea!"

They rushed for the church and Ned followed. Old Jack did not get the
saddle and bridle that had been promised to him. When the boy leaped
from his back he snatched off the halter of withes and shouted loudly
to him: "Go!"

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