Nearly a week passed, and Dr. Bryant had hurried on, riding through the long, long nights, and only pausing at times to recruit his jaded steed.  He had arrived at within two days’ ride of San Antonio, and too wearied to proceed, stopped as night closed in, and picketing his horse wrapped his cloak about him, and threw himself under a large spreading oak to rest, and, if possible, to sleep.  An hour passed on:  still he lay looking up to the brilliant sky above.  Perfect quiet reigned around, and he felt soothed inexpressibly.  Overcome with fatigue, sleep stole on, and momentary oblivion of the past was granted.  He was startled from his slumber by the neighing of his horse; and rising lightly, drew forth his pistols, cocked one, and turned in the direction whence came the sound of approaching hoofs.  The neighing was answered by the advancing steed, and soon the figure of both rider and horse was dimly seen; for the moon was not yet risen, and the pale light of the stars but faintly assisted the vision.

“Who comes there?” asked Dr. Bryant, throwing off his cloak, and stepping up to the stranger.

“A peaceful Mexican, in search of cows, and some twenty sheep which strayed away.  I think, from your voice, you are an Americano.  I am friendly to your people—­you will not molest me, and I will not harm you.”

“My friend, I rather doubt your word.  These are stormy times for a man to venture out in search of cattle, so far from San Antonio.”.

“I could tell you a piece of news that would satisfy you that I run less risk than yourself.  But, stranger, it’s not civil to doubt a man’s word, and make him an enemy whether he will or not.”

“I am willing to receive your proffered proof of sincerity, and hope to find you unlike your fickle nation.  Come, tell the news which sanctions this long ramble of yours.  These are dark days, and it becomes every man to look well to his own safety, and likewise watch his neighbor’s movements.”

“I will do you a kindness, stranger; turn your horse’s head, and let moonrise find you where you drank water at noon.  San Antonio is no place for Americans now.  Santa Anna has taken the Alamo; and every one of your people lie low.  Not one was spared to carry the tale to Austin—­no, not one!”

Dr. Bryant groaned in spirit, and his extended arm sunk to his side.

“Oh God! hast thou forsaken us?  Surely thou wilt yet listen to the voice of justice and liberty,” he murmured to himself, and there was a pause.

“How long since the ill-fated Alamo fell?” he inquired.

“Five days ago.  Hintzilopotchli came down and held his bloody feast, and cut off many brave men.”

“By what force was the fortress assaulted?”

“Seven thousand men, led by the great and victorious Santa Anna.  Not long lasted the strife:  we were too many for your people, and the fight was short.”

“And was our noble Travis slaughtered with his brave band?”