"We must take our chances," said Travis. "One man's all we can spare. I'm almost afraid Houston can't send any more to us just now."
"Every man in Texas owns a rifle!" exclaimed Crockett, with energy. "Not a livin' soul ought to stay at home."
"Pay and rations," said Travis, calmly. "I'm afraid Bowie's dollars didn't come in time. It isn't any fault of his, but all the gold in Mexico wouldn't save the Alamo."
Bowie was listening, but he turned away without speaking, for he was questioning himself. Was it any fault of his? Had it been his duty to return at once with the cash found in the adobe ruin instead of pushing on with Tetzcatl? It was a serious question, but at last he put it away.
"Come what may," he told himself, "I could not have done otherwise. I had no choice. I was driven. I was in one of those places where a man cannot decide for himself. The Comanches did it."
The movements of the several assignments of the Mexican army went on deliberately all through the day. The circle that was made was pretty long, however, and there were gaps between the camps which would require careful patrolling to make complete what Crockett described as "the corral of the Gringos."
"Anything like a provision-train, for instance," remarked Bowie, "couldn't get in without a battle. There isn't any American force yet gathered in Texas that could undertake to whip an army of five thousand men."
Night came at last, and with it came a moon instead of the darkness which Travis had been wishing for. It was not a good night for a secret messenger, and the mounted patrols of the enemy were going to and fro almost up to the walls of the fort.
"Their infantry outlooks are well out in advance of their lines," remarked Travis, standing in the gate-way. "I doubt if it's possible for Carson to get through."
"If I thought he couldn't I'd go myself," exclaimed Bowie. "I wish he were an Indian!"