Most of the people in San Antonio were asleep when the dripping figure of a half unconscious boy on a great horse galloped toward them in that momentous dawn.  He was without hat or serape.  He was bareheaded and his rifle was gone.  He was shouting “Up!  Up!  Santa Anna and the Mexican army are at hand!” But his voice was so choked and hoarse that he could not be heard a hundred feet away.

Davy Crockett, James Bowie and a third man were standing in the Main Plaza.  The third man, like the other two, was of commanding proportions.  He was a full six feet in height, very erect and muscular, and with full face and red hair.  He was younger than the others, not more than twenty-eight, but he was Colonel William Barrett Travis, a North Carolina lawyer, who was now in command of the few Texans in San Antonio.

The three men were talking very anxiously.  Crockett had brought word that the army of Santa Anna was on the Texan side of the Rio Grande, but it had seemed impossible to rouse the Texans to a full sense of the impending danger.  Many remained at their homes following their usu vocations.  Mr. Austin was away in the states trying to raise money.  Dissensions were numerous in the councils of the new government, and the leaders could agree upon nothing.

Travis, Bowie and Crockett were aware of the great danger, but even they did not believe it was so near.  Nevertheless they were full of anxiety.  Crockett, just come to Texas, took no command and sought to keep in the background, but he was too famous and experienced a man not to be taken at once by Travis and Bowie into their councils.  They were discussing now the possibility of getting help.

“We might send messengers to the towns further east,” said Travis, “and at least get a few men here in time.”

“We need a good many,” said Bowie.  “According to Mr. Crockett the Mexican army is large, and the population here is unfriendly.”

“That is so,” said Travis, “and we have women and children of our own to protect.”

It was when he spoke the last words that they heard the clatter of hoofs and saw Ned dashing down the narrow street toward the Main Plaza.  They heard him trying to shout, but his voice was now so hoarse that he could not be understood.

But Ned, though growing weaker fast, knew two of the men.  He could never forget the fair-haired Bowie nor the swarthy Crockett, and he galloped straight toward them.  Then he pulled up his horse and half fell, half leaped to the ground.  Holding by Old Jack’s mane he pulled himself into an erect position.  He was a singular sight The water still fell from his wet hair and dripped from his clothing.  His face was plastered with mud.

“Santa Anna’s army, five thousand strong, is not two miles away!” he said.  “I tell you because I have seen it!”

“Good God!” cried Bowie.  “It’s the boy, Ned Fulton.  I know him well.  What he says must be truth.”

“It is every word truth!” croaked Ned.  “I was pursued by their vanguard!  My horse swam the river with me!  Up!  Up! for Texas!”

Then he fainted dead away.  Bowie seized him in his powerful arms and carried him into one of the houses occupied by the Texans, where men stripped him of his wet clothing and gave him restoratives.  But Bowie himself hurried out into the Main Plaza.  He had the most unlimited confidence in Ned’s word and so had Crockett.  They and Travis at once began to arrange the little garrison for defence.

Many of the Texans even yet would not believe.  So great had been their confidence that they had sent out no scouting parties.  Only a day or two before they had been enjoying themselves at a great dance.  The boy who had come with the news that Santa Anna was at hand must be distraught.  Certainly he had looked like a maniac.

A loud cry suddenly came from the roof of the church of San Fernando.  Two sentinels posted there had seen the edge of a great army appear upon the plain and then spread rapidly over it.  Santa Anna’s army had come.  The mad boy was right.  Two horsemen sent out to reconnoiter had to race back for their lives.  The flooded stream was now subsiding and only the depth of the water in the night had kept the Mexicans from taking cannon across and attacking.

Ned’s faint was short.  He remembered putting on clothing, securing a rifle and ammunition, and then he ran out into the square.  From many windows he saw the triumphant faces of Mexicans looking out, but he paid no attention to them.  He thought alone of the Texans, who were now displaying the greatest energy.  In the face of the imminent and deadly peril Travis, Crockett, Bowie and the others were cool and were acting with rapidity.  The order was swiftly given to cross to the Alamo, the old mission built like a fortress, and the Texans were gathering in a body.  Ned saw a young lieutenant named Dickinson catch up his wife and child on a horse, and join the group of men.  All the Texans had their long rifles, and there were also cannon.

As Ned took his place with the others a kindly hand fell upon his shoulder and a voice spoke in his ear.

“I was going to send for you, Ned,” said Bowie, “but you’ve come.  Perhaps it would have been better for you, though, if you had been left in San Antonio.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Bowie!” cried Ned.  “Don’t say that.  We can beat off any number of Mexicans!”

Bowie said nothing more.  Much of Ned’s courage and spirit returned, but he saw how pitifully small their numbers were.  The little band that defiled across the plain toward the Alamo numbered less than one hundred and fifty men, and many of them were without experience.

They were not far upon the plain when Ned saw a great figure coming toward him.  It was Old Jack, who had been forgotten in the haste and excitement.  The saddle was still on his back and his bridle trailed on the ground.  Ned met him and patted his faithful head.  Already he had taken his resolution.  There would be no place for Old Jack in the Alamo, but this good friend of his should not fall into the hands of the Mexicans.

He slipped off saddle and bridle, struck him smartly on the shoulder and exclaimed: 

“Good-by, Old Jack, good-by!  Keep away from our enemies and wait for me.”

The horse looked a moment at his master, and, to Ned’s excited eyes, it seemed for a moment that he wished to speak.  Old Jack had never before been dismissed in this manner.  Ned struck him again and yet more sharply.

“Go, old friend!” he cried.

The good horse trotted away across the plain.  Once he looked back as if in reproach, but as Ned did not call him he kept on and disappeared over a swell.  It was to Ned like the passing of a friend, but he knew that Old Jack would not allow the Mexicans to take him.  He would fight with both teeth and hoofs against any such ignominious capture.

Then Ned turned his attention to the retreat.  It was a little band that went toward the Alamo, and there were three women and three children in it, but since they knew definitely that Santa Anna and his great army had come there was not a Texan who shrank from his duty.  They had been lax in their watch and careless of the future, faults frequent in irregular troops, but in the presence of overwhelming danger they showed not the least fear of death.

They reached the Alamo side of the river.  Before them they saw the hewn stone walls of the mission rising up in the form of a cross and facing the river and the town.  It certainly seemed welcome to a little band of desperate men who were going to fight against overwhelming odds.  Ned also saw not far away the Mexican cavalry advancing in masses.  The foremost groups were lancers, and the sun glittered on the blades of their long weapons.

Ned believed that Urrea was somewhere in one of these leading groups.  Urrea he knew was full of skill and enterprise, but his heart filled with bitterness against him.  He had tasted the Texan salt, he had broken bread with those faithful friends of his, the Panther and Obed White, and now he was at Santa Anna’s right hand, seeking to destroy the Texans utterly.

“Looks as if I’d have a lot of use for Old Betsy,” said a whimsical voice beside him.  “Somebody said when I started away from Tennessee that I’d have nothing to do with it, might as well leave my rifle at home.  But I ’low that Old Betsy is the most useful friend I could have just now.”

It was, of course, Davy Crockett who spoke.  He was as cool as a cake of ice.  Old Betsy rested in the hollow of his arm, the long barrel projecting several feet.  His raccoon skin cap was on the back of his head.  His whole manner was that of one who was in the first stage of a most interesting event.  But as Ned was looking at him a light suddenly leaped in the calm eye.

“Look there! look there!” said Davy Crockett, pointing a long finger.  “We’ll need food in that Alamo place, an’ behold it on the hoof!”

About forty cattle had been grazing on the plain.  They had suddenly gathered in a bunch, startled by the appearance of so many people, and of galloping horsemen.

“We’ll take ’em with us!  We’ll need ’em!  Say we can do it, Colonel!” shouted Crockett to Travis.

Travis nodded.

“Come on, Ned,” cried Crockett, “an’ come on the rest of you fleet-footed fellows!  Every mother’s son of you has driv’ the cows home before in his time, an’ now you kin do it again!”

A dozen swift Texans ran forward with shouts, Ned and Davy Crockett at their head.  Crockett was right.  This was work that every one of them knew how to do.  In a flash they were driving the whole frightened herd in a run toward the gate that led into the great plaza of the Alamo.  The swift motion, the sense of success in a sudden maneuver, thrilled Ned.  He shouted at the cattle as he would have done when he was a small boy.

They were near the gate when he heard an ominous sound by his side.  It was the cocking of Davy Crockett’s rifle, and when he looked around he saw that Old Betsy was leveled, and that the sure eye of the Tennessean was looking down the sights.

Some of the Mexican skirmishers seeing the capture of the herd by the daring Texans were galloping forward to check it.  Crockett’s finger pressed the trigger.  Old Betsy flashed and the foremost rider fell to the ground.

“I told that Mexican to come down off his horse, and he came down,” chuckled Crockett.

The Mexicans drew back, because other Texan rifles, weapons that they had learned to dread, were raised.  A second body of horsemen charged from a different angle, and Ned distinctly saw Urrea at their head.  He fired, but the bullet missed the partisan leader and brought down another man behind him.

“There are good pickings here,” said Davy Crockett, “but they’ll soon be too many for us.  Come on, Ned, boy!  Our place is behind them walls!”

“Yes,” repeated Bowie, who was near.  “It’s the Alamo or nothing.  No matter how fast we fired our rifles we’d soon be trod under foot by the Mexicans.”

They passed in, Bowie, Crockett and Ned forming the rear guard.  The great gates of the Alamo were closed behind them and barred.  For the moment they were safe, because these doors were made of very heavy oak, and it would require immense force to batter them in.  It was evident that the Mexican horsemen on the plain did not intend to make any such attempt, as they drew off hastily, knowing that the deadly Texan rifles would man the walls at once.

“Well, here we are, Ned,” said the cheerful voice of Davy Crockett, “an’ if we want to win glory in fightin’ it seems that we’ve got the biggest chance that was ever offered to anybody.  I guess when old Santa Anna comes up he’ll say:  ‘By nations right wheel; forward march the world.’  Still these walls will help a little to make up the difference between fifty to one.”

As he spoke he tapped the outer wall.

“No Mexican on earth,” he said, “has got a tough enough head to butt through that.  At least I think so.  Now what do you think, Ned?”

His tone was so whimsical that Ned was compelled to laugh despite their terrible situation.

“It’s a pity, though,” continued Crockett, “that we’ve got such a big place here to defend.  Sometimes you’re the stronger the less ground you spread over.”

Ned glanced around.  He had paid the Alamo one hasty visit just after the capture of San Antonio by the Texans, but he took only a vague look then.  Now it was to make upon his brain a photograph which nothing could remove as long as he lived.

He saw in a few minutes all the details of the Alamo.  He knew already its history.  This mission of deathless fame was even then more than a century old.  Its name, the Alamo, signified “the Cottonwood tree,” but that has long since been lost in another of imperishable grandeur.

The buildings of the mission were numerous, the whole arranged, according to custom, in the form of a cross.  The church, which was now without a roof, faced town and river, but it contained arched rooms, and the sacristy had a solid roof of masonry.  The windows, cut for the needs of an earlier time, were high and narrow, in order that attacking Indians might not pour in flights of arrows upon those who should be worshipping there.  Over the heavy oaken doors were images and carvings in stone worn by time.

To the left of the church, beside the wing of the cross, was the plaza of the convent, about thirty yards square, with its separate walls more than fifteen feet high and nearly four feet thick.

Ned noted all these things rapidly and ineffaceably, as he and Crockett took a swift but complete survey of their fortress.  He saw that the convent and hospital, each two stories in height, were made of adobe bricks, and he also noticed a sallyport, protected by a little redoubt, at the southeastern corner of the yard.

They saw beyond the convent yard the great plaza into which they had driven the cattle, a parallelogram covering nearly three acres, inclosed by a wall eight feet in height and three feet thick.  Prisons, barracks and other buildings were scattered about.  Beyond the walls was a small group of wretched jacals or huts in which some Mexicans lived.  Water from the San Antonio flowed in ditches through the mission.

It was almost a town that they were called upon to defend, and Ned and Crockett, after their hasty look, came back to the church, the strongest of all the buildings, with walls of hewn stone five feet thick and nearly twenty-five feet high.  They opened the heavy oaken doors, entered the building and looked up through the open roof at the sky.  Then Crockett’s eyes came back to the arched rooms and the covered sacristy.

“This is the real fort,” he said, “an’ we’ll put our gunpowder in that sacristy.  It looks like sacrilege to use a church for such a purpose, but, Ned, times are goin’ to be very hot here, the hottest we ever saw, an’ we must protect our powder.”

He carried his suggestion to Travis, who adopted it at once, and the powder was quickly taken into the rooms.  They also had fourteen pieces of cannon which they mounted on the walls of the church, at the stockade at the entrance to the plaza and at the redoubt.  But the Texans, frontiersmen and not regular soldiers, did not place much reliance upon the cannon.  Their favorite weapon was the rifle, with which they rarely missed even at long range.

It took the Texans but little time to arrange the defence, and then came a pause.  Ned did not have any particular duty assigned to him, and went back to the church, which now bore so little resemblance to a house of worship.  He gazed curiously at the battered carvings and images over the door.  They looked almost grotesque to him now, and some of them threatened.

He went inside the church and looked around once more.  It was old, very old.  The grayness of age showed everywhere, and the silence of the defenders on the walls deepened its ancient aspect.  But the Norther had ceased to blow, and the sun came down, bright and unclouded, through the open roof.

Ned climbed upon the wall.  Bowie, who was behind one of the cannon, beckoned to him.  Ned joined him and leaned upon the gun as Bowie pointed toward San Antonio.

“See the Mexican masses,” he said.  “Ned, you were a most timely herald.  If it had not been for you our surprise would have been total.  Look how they defile upon the plain.”

The army of Santa Anna was entering San Antonio and it was spread out far and wide.  The sun glittered on lances and rifles, and brightened the bronze barrels of cannon.  The triumphant notes of a bugle came across the intervening space, and when the bugle ceased a Mexican band began to play.

It was fine music.  The Mexicans had the Latin ear, the gift for melody, and the air they played was martial and inspiring.  One could march readily to its beat.  Bowie frowned.

“They think it nothing more than a parade,” he said.  “But when Santa Anna has taken us he will need a new census of his army.”

He looked around at the strong stone walls, and then at the resolute faces of the men near him.  But the garrison was small, pitifully small.

Ned left the walls and ate a little food that was cooked over a fire lighted in the convent plaza.  Then he wandered about the place looking at the buildings and inclosures.  The Alamo was so extensive that he knew Travis would be compelled to concentrate his defense about the church, but he wanted to examine all these places anyhow.

He wandered into one building that looked like a storehouse.  The interior was dry and dusty.  Cobwebs hung from the walls, and it was empty save for many old barrels that stood in the corner.  Ned looked casually into the barrels and then he uttered a shout of joy.  A score of so of them were full of shelled Indian corn in perfect condition, a hundred bushels at least.  This was truly treasure trove, more valuable than if the barrels had been filled with coined gold.

He ran out of the house and the first man he met was Davy Crockett.

“Now what has disturbed you?” asked Crockett, in his drawling tone.  “Haven’t you seen Mexicans enough for one day?  This ain’t the time to see double.”

“I wish I could see double in this case, Mr. Crockett,” replied Ned, “because then the twenty barrels of corn that I’ve found would be forty.”

He took Crockett triumphantly into the building and showed him the treasure, which was soon transferred to one of the arched rooms beside the entrance of the church.  It was in truth one of the luckiest finds ever made.  The cattle in the plaza would furnish meat for a long time, but they would need bread also.  Again Ned felt that pleasant glow of triumph.  It seemed that fortune was aiding them.

He went outside and stood by the ditch which led a shallow stream of water along the eastern side of the church.  It was greenish in tint, but it was water, water which would keep the life in their bodies while they fought off the hosts of Santa Anna.

The sun was now past the zenith, and since the Norther had ceased to blow there was a spring warmth in the air.  Ned, conscious now that he was stained with the dirt and dust of flight and haste, bathed his face and hands in the water of the ditch and combed his thick brown hair as well as he could with his fingers.

“Good work, my lad,” said a hearty voice beside him.  “It shows that you have a cool brain and an orderly mind.”

Davy Crockett, who was always neat, also bathed his own face and hands in the ditch.

“Now I feel a lot better,” he said, “and I want to tell you, Ned, that it’s lucky the Spanish built so massively.  Look at this church.  It’s got walls of hewn stone, five feet through, an’ back in Tennessee we build ’em of planks a quarter of an inch thick.  Why, these walls would turn the biggest cannon balls.”

“It surely is mighty lucky,” said Ned.  “What are you going to do next, Mr. Crockett?”

“I don’t know.  I guess we’ll wait on the Mexicans to open the battle.  Thar, do you hear that trumpet blowin’ ag’in?  I reckon it means that they’re up to somethin’.”

“I think so, too,” said Ned.  “Let’s go back upon the church walls, Mr. Crockett, and see for ourselves just what it means.”

The two climbed upon the great stone wall, which was in reality a parapet.  Travis and Bowie, who was second in command, were there already.  Ned looked toward San Antonio, and he saw Mexicans everywhere.  Mexican flags hoisted by the people were floating from the flat roofs of the houses, signs of their exultation at the coming of Santa Anna and the expulsion of the Texans.

The trumpet sounded again and they saw three officers detach themselves from the Mexican lines and ride forward under a white flag.  Ned knew that one of them was the young Urrea.

“Now what in thunder can they want?” growled Davy Crockett.  “There can be no talk or truce between us an’ Santa Anna.  If all that I’ve heard of him is true I’d never believe a word he says.”

Travis called two of his officers, Major Morris and Captain Martin, and directed them to go out and see what the Mexicans wanted.  Then, meeting Ned’s eye, he recalled something.

“Ah, you speak Spanish and Mexican Spanish perfectly,” he said.  “Will you go along, too?”

“Gladly,” said Ned.

“An’, Ned,” said Davy Crockett, in his whimsical tone, “if you don’t tell me every word they said when you come back I’ll keep you on bread an’ water for a week.  There are to be no secrets here from me.”

“I promise, Mr. Crockett,” said Ned.

The heavy oaken doors were thrown open and the three went out on foot to meet the Mexican officers who were riding slowly forward.  The afternoon air was now soft and pleasant, and a light, soothing wind was blowing from the south.  The sky was a vast dome of brilliant blue and gold.  It was a picture that remained indelibly on Ned’s mind like many others that were to come.  They were etched in so deeply that neither the colors nor the order of their occurrence ever changed.  An odor, a touch, or anything suggestive would make them return to his mind, unfaded and in proper sequence like the passing of moving pictures.

The Mexicans halted in the middle of the plain and the three Texans met them.  The Mexicans did not dismount.  Urrea was slightly in advance of the other two, who were older men in brilliant uniforms, generals at least.  Ned saw at once that they meant to be haughty and arrogant to the last degree.  They showed it in the first instance by not dismounting.  It was evident that Urrea would be the chief spokesman, and his manner indicated that it was a part he liked.  He, too, was in a fine uniform, irreproachably neat, and his handsome olive face was flushed.

“And so,” he said, in an undertone and in Spanish to Ned, “we are here face to face again.  You have chosen your own trap, the Alamo, and it is not in human power for you to escape it now.”

His taunt stung, but Ned merely replied: 

“We shall see.”

Then Urrea said aloud, speaking in English, and addressing himself to the two officers: 

“We have come by order of General Santa Anna, President of Mexico and Commander-in-Chief of her officers, to make a demand of you.”

“A conference must proceed on the assumption that the two parties to it are on equal terms,” said Major Morris, in civil tones.

“Under ordinary circumstances, yes,” said Urrea, without abating his haughty manner one whit, “but this is a demand by a paramount authority upon rebels and traitors.”

He paused that his words might sink home.  All three of the Texans felt anger leap in their hearts, but they put restraint upon their words.

“What is it that you wish to say to us?” continued Major Morris.  “If it is anything we should hear we are listening.”

Urrea could not subdue his love of the grandiose and theatrical.

“As you may see for yourselves,” he said, “General Santa Anna has returned to Texas with an overpowering force of brave Mexican troops.  San Antonio has fallen into his hands without a struggle.  He can take the Alamo in a day.  In a month not a man will be left in Texas able to dispute his authority.”

“These are statements most of which can be disputed,” said Major Morris.  “What does General Santa Anna demand of us?”

His quiet manner had its effect upon Urrea.

“He demands your unconditional surrender,” he said.

“And does he say nothing about our lives and good treatment?” continued the Major, in the same quiet tones.

“He does not,” replied Urrea emphatically.  “If you receive mercy it will be due solely to the clemency of General Santa Anna toward rebels.”

Hot anger again made Ned’s heart leap.  The tone of Urrea was almost insufferable, but Major Morris, not he, was spokesman.

“I am not empowered to accept or reject anything,” continued Major Morris.  “Colonel Travis is the commander of our force, but I am quite positive in my belief that he will not surrender.”

“We must carry back our answer in either the affirmative or the negative,” said Urrea.

“You can do neither,” said Major Morris, “but I promise you that if the answer is a refusal to surrender ­and I know it will be such ­a single cannon shot will be fired from the wall of the church.”

“Very well,” said Urrea, “and since that is your arrangement I see nothing more to be said.”

“Nor do I,” said Major Morris.

The Mexicans saluted in a perfunctory manner and rode toward San Antonio.  The three Texans went slowly back to the Alamo.  Ned walked behind the two men.  He hoped that the confidence of Major Morris was justified.  He knew Santa Anna too well.  He believed that the Texans had more to fear from surrender than from defence.

They entered the Alamo and once more the great door was shut and barred heavily.  They climbed upon the wall, and Major Morris and Captain Martin went toward Travis, Bowie and Crockett, who stood together waiting.  Ned paused a little distance away.  He saw them talking together earnestly, but he could not hear what they said.  Far away he saw the three Mexicans riding slowly toward San Antonio.

Ned’s eyes came back to the wall.  He saw Bowie detach himself from the other two and advance toward the cannon.  A moment later a flash came from its muzzle, a heavy report rolled over the plain, and then came back in faint echoes.

The Alamo had sent its answer.  A deep cheer came from the Texans.  Ned’s heart thrilled.  He had his wish.

The boy looked back toward San Antonio and his eyes were caught by something red on the tower of the Church of San Fernando.  It rose, expanded swiftly, and then burst out in great folds.  It was a blood-red flag, flying now in the wind, the flag of no quarter.  No Texan would be spared, and Ned knew it.  Nevertheless his heart thrilled again.