"The boys have come! Thank God!" gasped Bowie. "Five minutes more and Houston wouldn't have had a dollar of this stuff."
Not even then was he wasting a thought upon his own life or upon the lives of those who were with him.
It was a terrific surprise to the red riders. They were smitten as by lightning. They could have no idea of the numbers of their new assailants, and they were in wholesome dread of the marksmanship of the Texans. Well they might be!
Wheeling into a line at the order of their commander, the rangers were deliberately picking off warrior after warrior until their rifles were empty.
"Forward! Charge!" shouted Travis.
"Come on, fellers!" yelled Crockett. "It's Bowie and the boys! Don't you miss a shot."
They were not missing so long as any human target was within pistol range, but the targets were getting away. This was not at all what they had counted on. They fought for a moment, of course, for they were warriors, and their flights of arrows were not sent in vain.
Right through them rode the rangers, leaving three of their number on the grass, while several more carried with them well-aimed arrows.
"Hot work," laughed Travis, "but here we are! Bowie, old fellow! Hurrah!"
Away wheeled the stricken Comanches, for the rangers were reloading. The savage rush was over and the next business was to get out of rifle range.