CHAPTER IX

THE FLAG OF NO QUARTER

Ned gazed long at the great red flag as its folds waved in the wind.  A chill ran down his spine, a strange, throbbing sensation, but not of fear.  They were a tiny islet there amid a Mexican sea which threatened to roll over them.  But the signal of the flag, he realized, merely told him that which he had expected all the time.  He knew Santa Anna.  He would show no quarter to those who had humbled Cos and his forces at San Antonio.

The boy was not assigned to the watch that night, but he could not sleep for a long time.  Among these borderers there was discipline, but it was discipline of their own kind, not that of the military martinet.  Ned was free to go about as he chose, and he went to the great plaza into which they had driven the cattle.  Some supplies of hay had been gathered for them, and having eaten they were now all at rest in a herd, packed close against the western side of the wall.

Ned passed near them, but they paid no attention to him, and going on he climbed upon the portion of the wall which ran close to the river.  Some distance to his right and an equal distance to his left were sentinels.  But there was nothing to keep him from leaping down from the wall or the outside and disappearing.  The Mexican investment was not yet complete.  Yet no such thought ever entered Ned’s head.  His best friends, Will Allen, the Panther and Obed White, were out there somewhere, if they were still alive, but his heart was now here in the Alamo with the Texans.

He listened intently, but he heard no sound of any Mexican advance.  It occurred to him that a formidable attack might be made here, particularly under the cover of darkness.  A dashing leader like the younger Urrea might attempt a surprise.

He dropped back inside and went to one of the sentinels who was standing on an abutment with his head just showing above the wall.  He was a young man, not more than two or three years older than Ned, and he was glad to have company.

“Have you heard or seen anything?” asked Ned.

“No,” replied the sentinel, “but I’ve been looking for ’em down this way.”

They waited a little longer and then Ned was quite sure that he saw a dim form in the darkness.  He pointed toward it, but the sentinel could not see it at all, as Ned’s eyes were much the keener:  But the shape grew clearer and Ned’s heart throbbed.

The figure was that of a great horse, and Ned recognized Old Jack.  Nothing could have persuaded him that the faithful beast was not seeking his master, and he emitted a low soft whistle.  The horse raised his head, listened and then trotted forward.

“He is mine,” said Ned, “and he knows me.”

“He won’t be yours much longer,” said the sentinel.  “Look, there’s a Mexican creeping along the ground after him.”

Ned followed the pointing finger, and he now noticed the Mexican, a vaquero, who had been crouching so low that his figure blurred with the earth.  Ned saw the coiled lariat hanging over his arm, and he knew that the man intended to capture Old Jack, a prize worth any effort.