The men fell to work with hatchets and big knives, cutting steps in the soft earth, at least a hundred of them in order that everybody might have a chance.  Meanwhile the hour of dawn was at hand, but a heavy mist had thickened over prairie and river.  Beyond the mists and vapors, the sun showed only a yellow blur, and it did not yet cast any glow over the earth.

But Ned could clearly hear the Mexicans; officers shouting to men; men shouting to horses; horses neighing and mules squealing, and he knew from these noises that the report of their great force by the scouts was correct.  He also heard the clank of the artillery wheels again, and he feared that the cannon would prove a very dangerous foe to them.  All the pulses in his body began to beat fast and hard.

“Will the sun ever get through the fog and let us see?” he exclaimed impatiently.  It was hard to wait at such a time.

“It’s comin’ through now,” said the Ring Tailed Panther.

The pale yellow light turned suddenly to full red gold.  The banks of mist and vapor dissolved under the shining beams, and floated away in shreds and patches.  The river, the forest and the prairie rose up into the light, everything standing out, sharp and clear.

Ned drew a deep breath.  There was the Mexican array, massed along the entire open space of the horseshoe, at least five to the Texan one, as the scouts had said, and now not more than two hundred yards from them.  Five companies of cavalry were gathered ready to charge; infantry stood just behind them and back of the infantry Ned caught the gleam of the cannon he had heard in the night.  Evidently the Mexicans had not yet brought it to the front, because its fire would interfere with the charge of the cavalry which they expected would end the battle in five minutes.  There was no chance for the Texans to retreat, but it was not of retreat that they were thinking.

“How’s your pulse, Ned?” asked the Ring Tailed Panther.

“It’s beating fast and hard, I won’t deny that,” replied Ned, “but I believe my finger will be steady when it presses the trigger.”

“Fine feathers make fine Mexicans,” said Obed White.  “How they do love color!  That’s a gorgeous array out there, and it seems a pity to break it up.”

The Mexican force certainly looked well.  The cavalry, in brilliant uniforms, presented a long front, their lances gleaming.  The Texans, standing in the steps that they had cut in the earth, were in sober attire, but resolute eyes looked out from under their caps or the wide brims of their hats.

“They’ll charge in a moment,” said Obed, “and they’ll try to break their way through the wood.  They cannot ride down this bluff.”

The Ring Tailed Panther raised his rifle, and looked down the sights.  His eyes were glittering.  He drew the trigger and the sharp lashing report ended the silence.  A Mexican officer fell from his horse, and then, with a great shout, the Mexican horsemen charged, presenting a gallant array as they bent forward, their rifles and lances ready.  The beat of their horses’ hoofs came over the prairie like roiling thunder.  They wheeled suddenly toward the wood, and then the infantry, advancing, opened heavy and repeated volleys upon the Texans.  The horsemen also fired from their saddles.