“Deaf Smith and John W. Smith,” answered Sion.
“Ours are Sam Maverick and Hendrick Arnold and John Cooke.”
“Guess they know the town,” said Sion. “But I’d rather have Deaf Smith than anyone.”
“He’s no better than Karnes,” argued Jim.
“They’re both some scouts,” admitted Sion. “Well, I’m going to bed. We’ll meet up in the morning, maybe. Or else in town.”
“So long,” bade Jim and Ernest.
At this stage of army life Ernest could go to sleep at almost any time. He and Jim speedily rolled themselves in their blankets, and without much ado caught at least forty winks; and forty winks only did it seem to Ernest, when in the darkness and the chill of the hour preceding dawn he was awakened by the word passed along the lines. He and Jim quickly drew on their boots, donned coats and hats, belts and ammunition, seized their rifles and were ready.
Coffee was served from the mess pots, and at the old mill the two columns were formed by low orders. A number of crowbars were handed around.
It was reported that the Colonel Neill battalion, to make the pretense of attacking the Alamo, had gone. General Burleson had agreed to hold the reserve of the army in camp, in case that they might be needed in the fight, or in case that the Mexicans might attempt a counter-attack to cut the camp off, and seize it and the supplies.
The order to advance was given; and side by side, in silence, except for the shuffle of feet on the moist turf, the two columns moved forward through the misty murk, Colonel Milam and General Johnson, with their aides, leading; and the guides ahead, aiming for the easiest and surest approaches. Behind followed the Gonzales six-pounder and the twelve-pounder cannon drawn by the artillerymen. The other six-pounder had been taken by Colonel Neill.