Three of the five were veteran hunters, but they had never before found such a singular party on the prairie.  The woman sat down on the ground, still holding the baby tightly in her arms, and shivered all over.  The Texans regarded her in pitying silence for a few minutes, and then Obed White said in gentle tones: 

“We are friends, ready to take you to safety.  Tell us who you are.”

“I am Mrs. Dickinson,” she replied.

“Deaf” Smith looked startled.

“There was a Lieutenant Dickinson in the Alamo,” he said.

“I am his wife,” she replied, “and this is our child.”

“And where is——­” Smith stopped suddenly, knowing what the answer must be.

“He is dead,” she replied.  “He fell in the defence of the Alamo.”

“Might he not be among the prisoners?” suggested Obed White gently.

“Prisoners!” she replied.  “There were no prisoners.  They fought to the last.  Every man who was in the Alamo died in its defence.”

The five stared at her in amazement, and for a little while none spoke.

“Do you mean to say,” asked Obed White, “that none of the Texans survived the fall of the Alamo?”

“None,” she replied.

“How do you know?”

Her pale face filled with color.  It seemed that she, too, at that moment felt some of the glow that the fall of the Alamo was to suffuse through Texas.

“Because I saw,” she replied.  “I was in one of the arched rooms of the church, where they made the last stand.  I saw Crockett fall and I saw the death of Bowie, too.  I saw Santa Anna exult, but many, many Mexicans fell also.  It was a terrible struggle.  I shall see it again every day of my life, even if I live to be a hundred.”

She covered her face with her hands, as if she would cut out the sight of that last inferno in the church.  The others were silent, stunned for the time.

“All gone,” said Obed White, at last.  “When the news is spread that every man stood firm to the last I think it will light such a fire in Texas that Santa Anna and all his armies cannot put it out.”

“Did you see a boy called Ned Fulton in the Alamo, a tall, handsome fellow with brown hair and gray eyes?” asked Obed White.

“Often,” replied Mrs. Dickinson.  “He was with Crockett and Bowie a great deal.”

“And none escaped?” said Will Allen.

“Not one,” she repeated, “I did not see him in the church in the final assault.  He doubtless fell in the hospital or in the convent yard.  Ah, he was a friend of yours!  I am sorry.”

“Yes, he was a friend of ours,” said the Panther.  “He was more than that to me.  I loved that boy like a son, an’ me an’ my comrades here mean to see that the Mexicans pay a high price for his death.  An’ may I ask, ma’am, how you come to be here?”

She told him how Santa Anna had provided her with the horse, and had sent her alone with the proclamation to the Texans.  At the Salado Creek she had come upon the negro servant of Travis, who had escaped from San Antonio, and he was helping her on the way.