A mighty cheer from thousands of throats ran along the Mexican line, and the torches were waved until they looked like vast circles of fire.  Santa Anna lifted his hat and bowed three times in salute.  Again the Mexican cheer rolled to right and to left.  Santa Anna, still sitting on his horse, spread out his hands.  There was instant silence save for the deep breathing of the men.

“My children,” he said, “I have come to sweep away these miserable Texans who have dared to raise the rebel flag against us.  We will punish them all.  Houston, Austin, Bowie and the rest of their leaders shall feel our justice.  When we finish our march over their prairies it shall be as if a great fire had passed.  I have said it.  I am Santa Anna.”

The thunderous cheer broke forth again.  Ned had never before heard words so full of conceit and vainglory, yet the strength and menace were there.  He felt it instinctively.  Santa Anna believed himself to be the greatest man in the world, and he was certainly the greatest in Mexico.  His belief in himself was based upon a deep well of energy and daring.  Once more Ned felt a great and terrible fear for Texas, and the thin line of skin-clad hunters and ranchmen who were its sole defence.  But the feeling passed as he watched Santa Anna.  A young officer rushed forward and held his stirrup as the dictator dismounted.  Then the generals, including those who had come with him, crowded around him.  It was a brilliant company, including Sesma, Cos, Duque, Castrillon, Tolsa, Gaona and others, among whom Ned noted a man of decidedly Italian appearance.  This was General Vincente Filisola, an Italian officer who had received a huge grant of land in Texas, and who was now second in command to Santa Anna.

Ned watched them as they talked together and occasionally the crowd parted enough for him to see Santa Anna, who spoke and gesticulated with great energy.  The soldiers had been drawn away by the minor officers, and were now dispersing to their places by the fires where they would seek sleep.

Ned noticed a trim, slender figure on the outer edge of the group around Santa Anna.  It seemed familiar, and when the man turned he recognized the face of Almonte, the gallant young Mexican colonel who had been kind to him.  He was sorry to see him there.  He was sorry that he should have to fight against him.

Santa Anna went presently to a great marquee that had been prepared for him, and the other generals retired also to the tents that had been set about it.  The dictator was tired from his long ride and must not be disturbed.  Strict orders were given that there should be no noise in the camp, and it quickly sank into silence.

Ned lay down before one of the fires at the western end of the camp wrapped as before in his serape.  He counterfeited sleep, but nothing was further from his mind.  It seemed to him that he had done all he could do in the Mexican camp.  He had seen the arrival of Santa Anna, but there was no way to learn when the general would order an advance.  But he could infer from Santa Anna’s well-known energy and ability that it would come quickly.