They stopped a little while at noon and scanty rations were doled out.  They had started in such haste that they had only a little rice and dried beef, and there was no time to hunt game.

They started again in a half hour, creeping along through the mud, and the Panther was not the only man who uttered hot words of impatience under his breath.  They were nearing the San Antonio River now, and Fannin began to show anxiety about the fort.  But the Panther was watching the ammunition wagon, which was sinking deeper and deeper into the mire.  It seemed to him that it was groaning and creaking too much even for the deep mud through which it was passing.

The driver of the ammunition wagon cracked his long whip over the oxen and they tugged at the yoke.  The wheels were now down to the hub, and the wagon ceased to move.  The driver cracked his whip again and again, and the oxen threw their full weight into the effort.  The wheels slowly rose from their sticky bed, but then something cracked with a report like a pistol shot.  The Panther groaned aloud, because he knew what had happened.

The axle of the wagon had broken, and it was useless.  They distributed the ammunition, including the cannon balls, which they put in sacks, as well as they could, among the horsemen, and went on.  They did not complain, but every one knew that it was a heavy blow.  In two more hours they came to the banks of the muddy San Antonio, and stared in dismay at the swollen current.  It was evident at once to everybody that the passage would be most difficult for the cannon, which, like the ammunition wagon, were drawn by oxen.

The river was running deep, with muddy banks, and a muddy bottom, and, taking the lightest of the guns, they tried first to get it across.  Many of the men waded neck deep into the water and strove at the wheels.  But the stream went completely over the cannon, which also sank deeper and deeper in the oozy bottom.  It then became an effort to save the gun.  The Panther put all his strength at the wheel, and, a dozen others helping, they at last got it back to the bank from which they had started.

Fannin, not a man of great decision, looked deeply discouraged, but the Panther and others urged him on to new attempts.  The Panther, himself, as he talked, bore the aspect of a huge river god.  Yellow water streamed from his hair, beard, and clothing, and formed a little pool about him.  But he noticed it not at all, urging the men on with all the fiery energy which a dauntless mind had stored in a frame so great and capable.

“If it can be done the Panther will get the guns across,” said Will to Obed.

“That’s so,” said Obed, “but who’d have thought of this?  When we started out we expected to have our big fight with an army and not with a river.”