The Texans had used oxen to drag their cannon and wagons, and most of them now lay dead about the rim of the shallow crater, slain by the Mexican and Indian bullets.  The others had been tied to the wagons to keep them, when maddened by the firing, from trampling down the Texans themselves.  Now they still shivered with fear, and pulled at their ropes.  Ned felt sorry for the poor brutes.  Full cause had they for fright.

The afternoon was waning, and he ate a little supper, followed by a single drink of water.  Every man received a similar drink and no more from the canteens.  The coming twilight brought a coolness that was refreshing, but the Indians, taking advantage of the dusk, crept forward, and began to fire again at the Texans cooped up in the crater.  These red sharpshooters had the advantage of always knowing the position of their enemy, while they could shift their own as they saw fit.

The Texan marksmen, worn and weary though they were, returned to their task.  They could not see the Indians, but they used an old device, often successful in border warfare.  Whenever an Indian fired a spurt of smoke shot up from his rifle’s muzzle.  A Texan instantly pulled trigger at the base of the smoke, and oftener than not the bullet hit his dusky foe.

This new duel in the dark went on for two hours.  The Indians could fire at the mass in the hollow, while the Texans steadily picked out their more difficult targets.  The frightened oxen uttered terrified lowings and the Indians, now and then aiming at the sounds, killed or wounded more of the animals.  The Texans themselves slew those that were wounded, unwilling to see them suffer so much.

The skill of the Texans with the rifle was so great that gradually they prevailed over the Indians a second time in the trial of sharpshooting.  The warriors were driven back on the Mexican cavalry, and abandoned the combat.  The night was much darker than usual, and a heavy fog, rising from the plain, added to its density and dampness.  The skies were invisible, hidden by heavy masses of floating clouds and fog.

Ned saw a circle of lights spring up around them.  They were the camp fires of the Mexican army, and he knew that the troops were comfortable there before the blaze.  His heart filled with bitterness.  He had expected so much of Fannin’s men, and Crockett and Bowie before him had expected so much!  Yet here they were, beleaguered as the Texans had been beleaguered in the Alamo, and there were no walls behind which they could fight.  It seemed to Ned that the hand of fate itself had resolved to strike down the Texans.  He knew that Urrea, one of Santa Anna’s ablest and most tenacious generals, would never relax the watch for an instant.  In the darkness he could hear the Mexican sentinels calling to one another:  “Sentinela Alerte!”

The cold damp allayed the thirst of the young recruits, but the crater was the scene of gloom.  They did not dare to light a fire, knowing it would draw the Indian bullets at once, or perhaps cannon shots.  The wounded in their blankets lay on the ground.  A few of the unhurt slept, but most of them sat in silence looking somberly at one another.