“I’ve been three or four days hangin’ ‘roun’ the neighborhood,” replied the hunter.  “I came down from the northwest when I heard that Santa Anna was advancing an’ once I thought I’d make a break an’ try to get into the Alamo, but the Mexican lines was drawed too thick an’ close.”

“Have you heard anything about the men inside?” asked the Panther eagerly.

“Not a thing.  But I’ve noticed this.  A mornin’ an’ evenin’ gun was fired from the fortress every day until yesterday, Sunday, an’ since then—­nothin’.”

The silence in the little band was as ominous as the silence of the morning and evening gun.  Simpson shook his head sadly.

“Boys,” he said, “I’m goin’ to ride for Gonzales an’ join Houston.  I don’t think it’s any use for me to be hangin’ aroun’ San Antonio de Bexar any longer.  I wish you luck in whatever you’re tryin’ to do.”

He rode away, but the five friends continued their course toward the Alamo, without hope now, but resolved to see for themselves.  Deep in the night, which fortunately for their purpose was dark, heavy clouds shutting out the moon and stars, they approached San Antonio from the east.  They saw lights, which they knew were those of the town, but there was darkness only where they knew the Alamo stood.

They tethered their horses in some bushes and crept closer, until they could see the dim bulk of the Alamo.  No light shone there.  They listened long and intently, but not a single sound came from the great hecatomb.  Again they crept nearer.  There were no Mexican guards anywhere.  A little further and they stood by the low northern wall.

“Boys,” said the Panther, “I can’t stand it any longer.  Queer feelin’s are runnin’ all over me.  No, I’m goin’ to take the risk, if there is any, all alone.  You wait for me here, an’ if I don’t come back in an hour then you can hunt for me.”

The Panther climbed over the wall and disappeared.  The others remained in the deepest shadow waiting and silent.  They were oppressed by the heavy gloom that hung over the Alamo.  It was terrifying to young Will Allen, not the terror that is caused by the fear of men, but the terror that comes from some tragic mystery that is more than half guessed.

Nearly an hour passed, when a great figure leaped lightly from the wall and joined them.  The swarthy face of the Panther was as white as chalk, and he was shivering.

“Boys,” he whispered, “I’ve seen what I never want to see ag’in.  I’ve seen red, red everywhere.  I’ve been through the rooms of the Alamo, an’ they’re red, splashed with the red blood of men.  The water in the ditch was stained with red, an’ the earth all about was soaked with it.  Somethin’ awful must have happened in the Alamo.  There must have been a terrible fight, an’ I’m thinkin’ that most of our fellows must have died before it was took.  But it’s give me the creeps, boys, an’ I think we’d better get away.”