He looked back toward the swamp in which the Texans lay, but he saw no lights and he heard no sounds there.  He knew that within a short time they would be prisoners of the Mexicans.  Everything seemed to be working for the benefit of Santa Anna.  The indecision of the Texans and the scattering of their forces enabled the Mexicans to present overwhelming forces at all points.  It seemed to Ned that fortune, which had worked in their favor until the capture of San Antonio, was now working against them steadily and with overwhelming power.

He gathered himself together as best he could, and began his journey southward.  He believed that Fannin would be at Goliad or near it.  Once more that feeling of vengeance hardened within him.  The tremendous impression of the Alamo had not faded a particle, and now the incident of Ward, Refugio and the swamps of the Guadalupe was cumulative.  Remembering what he had seen he did not believe that a single one of Ward’s men would be spared when they were taken as they surely would be.  There were humane men among the Mexicans, like Almonte, but the ruthless policy of Santa Anna was to spare no one, and Santa Anna held all the power.

He held on toward Goliad, passing through alternate regions of forest and prairie, and he maintained a fair pace until night.  He had not eaten since morning, and all his venison was gone, but strangely enough he was not hungry.  When the darkness was coming he sat down in one of the little groves so frequent in that region, and he was conscious of a great weariness.  His bones ached.  But it was not the ache that comes from exertion.  It seemed to go to the very marrow.  It became a pain rather than exhaustion.

He noticed that everything about him appeared unreal.  The trees and the earth itself wavered.  His head began to ache and his stomach was weak.  Had the finest of food been presented to him he could not have eaten it.  He had an extraordinary feeling of depression and despair.

Ned knew what was the matter with him.  He was suffering either from overwhelming nervous and physical exhaustion, or he had contracted malaria in the swamps of the Guadalupe.  Despite every effort of the will, he began to shake with cold, and he knew that a chill was coming.  He had retained his blankets, his frontiersman’s foresight not deserting him, and now, knowing that he could not continue his flight for the present, he sought the deepest part of the thicket.  He crept into a place so dense that it would have been suited for an animal’s den, and lying down there he wrapped the blankets tightly about himself, his rifle and his ammunition.

In spite of his clothing and the warm blankets he grew colder and colder.  His teeth chattered and he shivered all over.  He would not have minded that so much, but his head ached with great violence, and the least light hurt his eyes.  It seemed to him the culmination.  Never had he been more miserable, more lost of both body and soul.  The pain in his head was so violent that life was scarcely worth the price.