But the colonel did not go far. Another figure, coming running, met him. By the voice it was Henry Karnes, breathless.
“Mexicans out thar, colonel,” he reported. “Don’t know how many, but a hull platoon charged me jest as I was relieved, an’ I gin ’em a mornin’ pill from ol’ Sal; they skedaddled, an’ another tried same trick, so I gin ’em a dose from my pistol, an’ they skedaddled, too.”
“Bet one didn’t skedaddle,” said Jim, to Ernest. “That Henry can hit a nail-head with his eyes shut.”
“Silence in the ranks,” ordered an officer; and the men easily laughed. They were not a whit afraid.
The line of this division had been formed along the natural parapet where bottom-land met prairie on the left; and across at the right the other division under Captain Fannin had probably likewise been formed.
“Steady,” passed the word. “Wait till the fog lifts, boys.”
“Gee, wish I could see,” complained Ernest, beside Jim, trying to stand on tiptoe so as to peek over the edge of the little bluff.
“I opine that fog out there’s plumb full of Mexican soldiers,” predicted Jim again.
“Move across to the other side, boys,” was the next order. “The colonel wants us to join lines with Fannin, so we won’t be shooting into each other. Then if those Mexicans charge in here we can everlastingly wallop ’em.”
So in spectral procession they changed to the Captain Fannin side, and the double ranks now extended around the inside of the horseshoe, from the parapet front to the river.