“When?”
“Soon as the consultation at San Felipe is over, and we get Austin to lead us.”
“Who’s your leader now?”
“Colonel John H. Moore.”
“Well, what’s the matter with him, then? He’s some fighter, I reckon. And there must be upward of two hundred fifty men right on this spot, just pinin’ for a scrimmage.”
“That’s what I say,” vaunted Ernest. “We can lick those Mexicans to a finish. They can’t fight. They run.”
“I don’t know,” dubiously said Jim. “Ugartechea has four hundred regulars in Bejar, and if Cos joins him with those five hundred more we might have to do a lot of chewing before we could swallow.”
“Shucks!” grunted Leo. “Down our way we calculate one Anglo-Texan settler can lick ten Mexicanos. Look at what we did in ’32 when we drove out the Bustamantists. Anyhow, seems like the whole country is arming now. We passed a lot of people on the road. Fannin’s ‘Brazos Company’ is somewhere behind us.”
“Who are they?” asked Ernest.
“A company of Brazos people who organized at San Felipe, I hear tell. Jim Fannin is their captain. He’s from Georgia and he’s been in Texas only a year; but he’s all man.”