“Clean out Zambrano Row, next. Then the Priest’s House,” remarked Dick Carroll, grimly.
The first column had been doing most of the advancing, for the second column, in the Veramendi House, were as far forward as they could get. However, in the drizzle of the morning the New Orleans Grays filed through the trench, eager to help, and joined with the Navarro garrison, to take Zambrano Row.
What a tumult of shouts and cheers and groans and shots pealed through doors and windows, as from within the Navarro house Henry Karnes and his sappers plied their crowbars on the dividing wall, and made their breaches into the rooms where awaited the Mexicans. Covered by the rifles behind them, the Texans burst through the breaches, with their knives and pistols drove the Mexicans out headlong; and clearing one room, proceeded, by crowbar and battering-ram, into the next. Nothing could stand before them. Right speedily Zambrano Row had fallen.
From the small house which had been taken by Henry Karnes alone, Ernest and Jim and their comrades had listened with beating hearts. Suddenly there ensued a lull, of only spattering shots—and rang a Texas cheer.
“One more step,” commented Jim, turning powder-grimed face upon Ernest. “I don’t reckon there’s much furniture left over yonder, though.”
Fresh reinforcements were rushed across from the Veramendi House. Sion was among them at last. At sight of him, peering about in the dimness, the two boys rushed upon him, and shook hands vigorously.
“How are you? All right?”
“Up and coming, but my shoulder’s plumb sore from dad’s rifle,” panted Sion. “This is toler’ble fighting, isn’t it! Four days! That was too bad about Milam, though. Where’s Leo? Seen him?”
“No.”
“He’s here. Followed right behind us, with some reinforcements from Burleson.”