Ned from his corner could see the mouths of the guns in the heavy Mexican battery at the far end of the plaza, and he watched the flashes of flame as they were fired one by one.  In the intervals he saw a lithe, strong figure appear on the breastwork, and he was quite sure that it was Urrea.

An hour of daylight passed.  From the house of De La Garcia the other division of Texans began to fire, the sharp lashing of their rifles sounding clearly amid the duller crash of musketry and cannon from the Mexicans.  The Texans in the lower part of the Veramendi house were also at work with their rifles.  Every man was a sharpshooter, and, whenever a Mexican came from behind a barricade, he was picked off.  But the Mexicans had also taken possession of houses and they were firing with muskets from windows and loopholes.

“We must shoot down the cannoneers,” shouted the Ring Tailed Panther to “Deaf” Smith.

Smith nodded.  The men on the roof were fifteen in number and now they devoted their whole attention to the battery.  Despite the drifting smoke they hit gunner after gunner.  The fever in Ned’s blood grew.  Everything was red before him.  His temples throbbed like fire.  The spirit of battle had taken full hold of him, and he fired whenever he caught a glimpse of a Mexican.

“Deaf” Smith was on Ned’s right, and he picked off a gunner.  But to do so he had lifted his head and shoulders above the coping.  A figure rose up behind the Mexican barricade and fired in return.  “Deaf” Smith uttered a little cry, and clapped his hand to his shoulder.

“Never mind,” he said in reply to anxious looks.  “It’s in the fleshy part only, and I’m not badly hurt.”

The bullet had gone nearly through the shoulder and was just under the skin on the other side.  The Ring Tailed Panther cut it out with his bowie knife and bound up the wound tightly with strips from his hunting shirt.  But Ned, although it was only a fleeting glimpse, had recognized the marksman.  It was Urrea who had sent the bullet through “Deaf” Smith’s shoulder.  He was proving himself a formidable foe.

But the men on the roof continued their deadly sharpshooting, and now, the battery, probably at Urrea’s suggestion, began to turn its attention to them.  Ned was seized suddenly by Obed and pulled flat.  There was a roaring and hissing sound over his head as a twelve pound cannon ball passed, and Ned said to Obed:  “I thank you.”  The cannon shot was followed by a storm of bullets and then by more cannon shots.  The Mexican guns were served well that day.  The coping was shot away and the Texans were in imminent danger from the flying pieces.  They were glad when the last of it was gone.

But they did not yet dare to raise themselves high enough for a shot.  Balls, shell, and bullets swept the roof without ceasing.  Ned lay on his side, almost flat.  He listened to the ugly hissing and screaming over his head until it became unbearable.  He turned over on his other side and looked at Smith, their leader.  Smith was pale and weak from his wound, but he smiled wanly.