General Houston did not reply. They snatched a hasty breakfast, saddled, and rode. This day they approached the Colorado. The next day they crossed it at Moore’s Ferry, but the Moore house was deserted. Jim Hill lived a short distance below, and Ernest thought of him—wondered where he was. Good old Jim! And Sion, too, twenty-five miles further down.
Nobody had joined them on the road. All the settlers and their families appeared to be in great alarm, but reported that 300 volunteers were waiting at Gonzales. Each morning at sunrise the general had listened for the signal guns; they all had listened; and they had felt not a tremor, heard not a boom. The horses proved to be of poor average. The general plainly was vexed at the slow progress necessary.
Here between the Colorado and the Guadalupe settlers were already on the move, taking their households out of threatened danger. Wagons and carts were met, loaded with furniture and supplies and women and children, travelling eastward. But no news of the Alamo was obtained.
Now on the morning of the sixth day out of Washington, Gonzales was only twenty miles westward, and the Alamo was but ninety—less than that, in a straight line. For the last time, they listened again at sunrise. The general stood, his head bare.
“Gentlemen,” he solemnly said, “the Alamo has fallen. We would hear the cannon, at this point—unless, of course, Colonel Travis is short of ammunition. Possibly, as we ride on, the sound of the bombardment will reach us. Let us hope so.”
They had struck into the main road between Gonzales and the Colorado, from which other trails forked: the road on which Ernest had twice ridden as courier—but that seemed to him very long ago. At the McClure ranch on Peach Creek, ten miles from town, the general reined in to inquire, of Mrs. McClure, who looked out upon them:
“What news from the Alamo, lady?” He always addressed a woman as “lady.”
She, too, was packed up, as for flight. She recognized Dick and Ernest, but did not smile.
“Not a thing for several days. Even the guns have stopped. We used to hear them in still weather. We haven’t heard them since Sunday morning early. Do you think there’s danger, sir? Ought we to move out?”
“My advice is for the settlers to be prepared to move east of the Colorado on a moment’s notice, lady,” responded the general. “With the small army at its disposal Texas may not be able to hold the enemy back, and this section will be overrun. Let all supplies that cannot be taken be destroyed.” And he rode on with head bowed.