“You bet. A brass six-pounder, about three hundred muskets, and a lot of ammunition and stuff.”
“Those are what we need.”
“Yes, sir! And we need Goliad as bad. That stops Mexico from sending any more troops to Bejar from the east. We’ve a line of Texans across that trail.”
Expresses were immediately hastened, with the news—one also with orders to Captain Collingsworth to hold Goliad, and to Captains Allen and Benjamin Fort Smith to return from there at once, bringing all the extra arms and supplies.
About noon Colonel Ben Milam rode gallantly into camp, at the head of a little squad conducting the three Mexican officers captured at Goliad—a lieutenant-colonel, a captain and an ensign. Having reported to headquarters, Colonel Milam was given a great welcome when he appeared on the field. But he brought little news from Mexico itself.
“You know a fellow in a Mexican prison doesn’t get much chance to learn what’s going on, boys,” he said. “And since I’ve been out I’ve hurried too fast to pick up any news especial.”
“Where was Santa Anna?”
“Yonder, at the capital, I reckon. I didn’t stay to bid him good-by. Fact is, I didn’t pass his way.”
“How do they feel about him, in Mexico, do you think?”
“He’s in the saddle; that’s generally recognized. But everything he does, he does through the vice-president that he’s appointed—Don Miguel Barrigan, a sort of president pro tem., or acting president. Santa Anna pulls the strings.”