He heard the Mexican trumpets pealing presently, and then he saw their infantry advancing in dark masses with heavy squadrons of cavalry on either flank.  But as soon as they came within range, they were swept by the deadly fire of the Texan rifles and were driven back in confusion.  Ned noticed that this always happened.  The Mexicans could never carry a Texan position by a frontal attack.  The Texans, or those who were called the Texans, shot straight and together so fast that no Mexican column could withstand their hail of bullets.

A second time the Mexicans charged, and a second time they were driven back in the same manner.  Exultation spread among the recruits standing in the hollow, but they were still surrounded.  The Mexicans merely drew out of range and waited.  Then they attacked a third time, and, from all sides, charging very close, infantry and cavalry.  The men in the hollow were well supplied with rifles, and their square fairly blazed.  Yet the Mexicans pressed home the charge with a courage and tenacity that Ned had never seen among them before.  These were Mexico’s best troops, and, even when the men faltered, the officers drove them on again with the point of the sword.  General Urrea himself led the cavalry, and the Mexicans pressed so close that the recruits saw both lance and bayonet points shining in their faces.

The hollow in which the Texans stood was a huge cloud of flame and smoke.  Ned was loading and firing so fast that the barrel of his rifle grew hot to the touch.  He stood with two youths but little older than himself, and the comradeship of battle had already made them friends.  But they scarcely saw the faces of one another.  The little valley was filled with the smoke of their firing.  They breathed it and tasted it, and it inflamed their brains.

Ned’s experience had made him a veteran, and when he heard the thunder of the horse’s hoofs and saw the lance points so near he knew that the crisis had come.

“One more volley.  One for your lives!” he cried to those around him.

The volley was forthcoming.  The rifles were discharged at the range of only a few yards into the mass of Mexican cavalry.  Horses and men fell headlong, some pitching to the very feet of the Texans and then one of the cannon poured a shower of grape shot into the midst of the wavering square.  It broke and ran, bearing its general away with it, and leaving the ground cumbered with fallen men and horses.

The Mexican infantry was also driven back at every point, and retreated rapidly until they were out of range.  Under the cloud of smoke wounded men crept away.  But when the cloud was wholly gone, it disclosed those who would move no more, lying on every side.  The defenders had suffered also.  Fannin lay upon the ground, while two of his men bound up a severe wound in the thigh that he had sustained from a Mexican bullet.  Many others had been wounded and some had been killed.  Most alarming of all was the announcement that the cannon could be fired only a few times more, as there was no water for the sponges when they became heated and clogged.  But this discouraged only the leaders, not the recruits themselves, who had ultimate faith in their rifles.