They tried to reach the gunners with their rifles, but the range was too great, and, after having thrown away nearly all the ammunition that was left, they were forced to stand idly and receive the Mexican fire.  The Mexicans must have divined the Texan situation, as a great cheer rose from their lines.  It became evident to Ned that the shallow crater would soon be raked through and through by the Mexican artillery.

Fannin, lying upon his pallet, was already calling a council of his officers, to which anyone who chose might listen.  The wounded leader was still resolute for battle, saying that they might yet cut their way through the Mexicans.  But the others had no hope.  They pointed to the increased numbers of the foe, and the exhausted condition of their own men, who had not now tasted food or water for many hours.  If Urrea offered them good terms they must surrender.

Ned stood on one side, saying nothing, although his experience was perhaps greater than that of anybody else present.  But he had seen the inevitable.  Either they must yield to the Mexicans or rush boldly on the foe and die to the last man, as the defenders of the Alamo had done.  Yet Fannin still opposed.

“We whipped them off yesterday, and we can do it again to-day,” he said.

But he was willing to leave it to the others, and, as they agreed that there was no chance to hold out any longer, they decided to parley with the Mexicans.  A white cloth was hoisted on the muzzle of a rifle.  The Mexican fire ceased, and they saw officers coming forward.  The sight was almost more than Ned could stand.  Here was a new defeat, a new tragedy.

“I shall meet them myself,” said Fannin, as he rose painfully.  “You come with me.  Major Wallace, but we do not speak Spanish, either of us.”

His eye roved over the recruits, and caught Ned’s glance.

“I have been much in Mexico,” said Ned.  “I speak Spanish and also several Mexican variations of it.”

“Good,” said Fannin, “then you come with us, and you, too, Durangue.  We may need you both.”

The two officers and the two interpreters walked out of the hollow, passing the barricade of earth and dead oxen that had been of no avail, and saw four Mexican officers coming toward them.  A silk handkerchief about the head of one was hidden partly by a cocked hat, and Ned at once saw that it was Urrea, the younger.  His heart swelled with rage and mortification.  It was another grievous pang that Urrea should be there to exult.

They met about midway between the camps, and Urrea stepped forward.  He gave Ned only a single glance, but it made the boy writhe inwardly.  The young Mexican was now all smoothness and courtesy, although Ned was sure that the cruel Spanish strain was there, hidden under his smiling air, but ready to flame up at provocation.

“I salute you as gallant foes,” said Urrea in good English, taking off his hat.  “My comrades and associates here are Colonel Salas, Lieutenant Colonel Holzinger and Lieutenant Gonzales, who are sent with myself by my uncle, General Urrea, to inquire into the meaning of the white flag that you have hoisted.”