Ernest went out on herd, the next morning, with an anxious heart. He was told to be sharp and ready, in case that Mexican soldiery should appear or that he should be summoned to hurry in, horses and all. On this day Alcalde Ponton was to reply to the corporal (who waited on the west bank) and inform him that he must go back without the cannon.
About noon Dick Carroll came galloping across the prairie, from town. Ernest’s heart thumped, and he stiffened, alert to gather his herd at the first word of warning. But no—not yet. Dick drew up short.
“How’s your pony, Ernest? Fresh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. We need you. Leave everything and ride; ride to Burnam’s and tell them to spread word up and down the river to rally for Gonzales. Ponton’s already sent word to Navarro and Ugartechea that we are going to hold the cannon. Captain Caldwell is riding to Mina [which was a new settlement on the Colorado above Burnam’s Crossing] to alarm ’em there. You strike for Burnam’s. Tell ’em we have only eighteen men, but we’ll stand our ground till reinforcements get here. Send the word down to Beason’s and on to Felipe. Tell ’em never mind Cos, he can be tended to later; but to come, with their guns. The fight begins here, now. Ride, boy; don’t spare your horse. We depend on you.”
Ernest whirled and was away, enlisted in the Texas cause.
Yes, ride, Ernest; ride! But push not your yellow pony too hard, for Burnam’s is fifty miles, and desperate as is the need, the race is to the skillful and not wholly to the swift. Sit light on the saddle, bear evenly on the reins, and talk to your faithful little steed.
He had cut across the prairie; threaded a timber patch, midway of which he dashed through Kerr’s Creek; and emerging from the trees struck down the San Felipe road. His pony’s hoofs hammered steadily on the hard clay. His rifle danced in its scabbard under his left knee, his hat-brim flared back in the breeze, and under him the narrow trail flowed like a ribbon unrolled by the hoof-beats.
With dark mane (for the pony was a true buckskin) rising and falling to every lunge, ears pointed now backward to catch his master’s words, now forward to anticipate any alarm, and nostrils flaring wide to drink deeply of the air, the little horse pulled strongly on the bit. But Ernest, sitting square, and bearing firmly on the ox-bow wooden stirrups, only let him stretch his nose, and there held him to a gallop.
“Steady, boy; steady.” He patted the glossy neck, already wet; and in about five miles pulled him down to a walk and let him puff and grunt.