Ned was posted at a broken door that led to the extension in which the horses were sheltered.  The remaining sentinels, three in number, including the Ring Tailed Panther, were stationed in different parts of the building.  The boy from his position in the broken doorway could see into the room where his comrades slept, and, when he looked in the other direction, he could also see the horses, some of which were now lying down.

It was all very still in the old convent.  So deep was this silence that Ned began to fancy that he heard the breathing of his sleeping comrades.  It was only fancy.  The horses had ceased to stir.  Perhaps they were as glad as the men that they had found shelter.  But outside Ned heard distinctly the moaning of the wind, and the lashing of the cold rain against roof and walls.

On the right where the extension had been connected with the main building of stone there was a great opening, and through this Ned looked down toward the adobe wall and the San Antonio.  He saw dimly across the river a dark waving mass which he knew to be the pecan trees, bending in the wind, but on his own side of the stream he could distinguish nothing.  But he watched there unceasingly, save for occasional glances at the horses or his sleeping comrades.

He could now see objects very well within the room.  He was able to count his comrades sleeping on the floor.  He saw two empty picture frames on the wall, and, near by, a rope, which he surmised led to the bell in the cupola, and which some chance had allowed to remain there.  Now and then Ned and one of his comrades of the watch met and exchanged a few words, but they always spoke in whispers, lest they awaken the sleeping men.  After these brief meetings Ned would return to his watch at the opening.

The character of the night did not change as time trailed its slow length away.  One solid black cloud covered the sky from horizon to horizon.  The wind out of the southwest never ceased to moan, and the cold rain blew steadily upon the walls and roof of the ruined convent.  It was not a night when either Texans or Mexicans would wish to be abroad, and, as the chill grew sharper and more penetrating, Ned wrapped one of his blankets about his shoulders.

As the night advanced, Ned’s sense of oppression deepened.  He felt once more as he had felt at the pyramid, that he was among old dead things.  Ghosts could walk here as truly as they could walk on the banks of the Teotihuacan.  Sometimes as the great cloud lightened the least bit he caught glimpses of the grass and weeds that grew between him and the broken adobe wall which was about fifteen yards away.

Only an hour more, and the second watch would come on.  Ned began to think of his place on the floor, and of the deep and dreamless sleep that he knew would be his.  Then he was attracted by a glimpse of the adobe wall.  It seemed to him that he had seen a projection, where there was none before.  He looked a second time, and he did not see it.  Fancy played strange tricks at midnight in the enemy’s country, and in the desolate silence.