The tigers themselves in their fort-den were resting quietly, all but one, for the commander of the Alamo was pacing up and down slowly, thoughtfully, in the plaza. No doubt it behooved him to be wakeful, but once, when he paused in his promenade, he said, half aloud,—
"I hope Jim Carson got through. Crockett feels pretty sure that he did. Then my wife will get my last letter. I want her to know that I did my duty and died like a man. I had hoped to live in Texas and see it grow up to be something, but it's no use talking of that now. Our time has come. Not a man of us will ever get out of this place alive. And all because Sam Houston can't raise cash enough to feed his men on a march."
He laughed satirically, and the sentry at the gate and the watchers at the loop-holes heard him. It did them good to know that he was so merry.
The night waned toward the dawn. Just in the gray mist of the dark hour the riflemen under Colonel Smith had risen and they were busy around their camp-fires. They had no idea of any enemy being near them, but suddenly they were startled by a loud "whoop!"
"That redskin!" shouted Smith, snatching his rifle and dashing out of the camp. "Come on, boys! Something's up!"
They were following fast, but he was well ahead, and he came out into the road in time to hear a shrill voice beyond him in the mist demanding,—
"Jim heap halt! Ugh! Red Wolf! Heap Texan!"
"You young sarpent, are you here?" came back from a man on horseback. "Do you mean to say that some of our men are nigh around?"
"Who goes thar?" shouted Smith.
"Carson, from the Alamo," responded the messenger. "Who are you?"