Ned was stung by his taunts and replied: 

“You forget Houston.”

Urrea laughed.

“Houston!  Houston!” he said.  “He does nothing.  And your so-called government does nothing, but talk.  They, too, will soon feel the might and wrath of Santa Anna.  Nothing can save them but a swift flight to the States.”

“We shall see,” said Ned, although at that moment he was far from confident.  “Remember how our men died at the Alamo.  The Texans cannot be conquered.”

Urrea said nothing further, as if he would not exult over a fallen enemy, although Ned knew that he was swelling with triumph, and went back to his uncle’s camp.  The Texan arms were taken ahead on some wagons, and then the dreary procession of the Texans themselves marched out of the hollow.  They were all on foot and without arms.  Those hurt worst were sustained by their comrades, and, thus, they marched into the Mexican camp, where they expected food and water, but General Urrea directed them to walk on to Goliad.

Fainting from hunger and thirst, they took up their march again.  The Mexican cavalry rode on either side of them, and many of the horsemen were not above uttering taunts which, fortunately, few of the prisoners could understand.  Young Urrea was in command of this guard and he rode near the head of the column where Ned could see him.  Now and then a Mexican vaquero cracked his long whip, and every report made Ned start and redden with anger.

Some of the recruits were cheerful, talked of being exchanged and of fighting again in the war, but the great majority marched in silence and gloom.  They felt that they had wasted themselves.  They had marched into a trap, which the Mexicans were able to close upon them before they could strike a single blow for Texas.  Now they were herded like cattle being driven to a stable.

They reached the town of Goliad, and the Mexican women and children, rejoicing in the triumph of their men, came out to meet them, uttering many shrill cries as they chattered to one another.  Ned understood them, but he was glad that the others did not.  Young Urrea rode up by the side of him and said: 

“Well, you and your comrades have now arrived at our good town of Goliad.  You should be glad that your lives have been spared, because you are rebels and you deserve death.  But great is the magnanimity of our most illustrious president and general, Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna.”

Ned looked up quickly.  He thought he had caught a note of cruelty in that soft, measured voice.  He never trusted Urrea, nor did he ever trust Santa Anna.

“I believe it is customary in civilized warfare to spare the lives of prisoners,” he said.

“But rebels are rebels, and freebooters are freebooters,” said Urrea.

It seemed to Ned that the young Mexican wanted to draw him into some sort of controversy, and he refused to continue.  He felt that there was something sinister about Urrea, or that he represented something sinister, and he resolved to watch rather than talk.  So, gazing straight ahead, he walked on in silence.  Urrea, waiting for an answer, and seeing that he would get none, smiled ironically, and, turning his horse, galloped away.