THE TEXAN SCOUTS

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. IN THE STORM

II. THE CAPTIVES

III. THE FIGHT WITH URREA

IV. THE CABIN IN THE WOODS

V. SANTA ANNA'S ADVANCE

VI. FOR FREEDOM'S SAKE

VII. THE HERALD OF ATTACK

VIII. IN THE ALAMO

IX. THE FLAG OF NO QUARTER

X. CROCKETT AND BOWIE

XI. THE DESPERATE DEFENCE

XII. BEFORE THE DICTATOR

XIII. TO THE LAST MAN

XIV. THE NEWS OF THE FALL

XV. IN ANOTHER TRAP

XVI. FANNIN'S CAMP

XVII. THE SAD SURRENDER

XVIII. THE BLACK TRAGEDY

XIX. THE RACE FOR THE BOAT

XX. THE CRY FOR VENGEANCE





CHAPTER I

IN THE STORM


The horseman rode slowly toward the west, stopping once or twice to
examine the wide circle of the horizon with eyes that were trained to
note every aspect of the wilderness. On his right the plains melted away
in gentle swell after swell, until they met the horizon. Their brown
surface was broken only by the spiked and thorny cactus and stray bits
of chaparral.

On his left was the wide bed of a river which flowed through the sand,
breaking here and there into several streams, and then reuniting, only
to scatter its volume a hundred yards further into three or four
channels. A bird of prey flew on strong wing over the water, dipped and
then rose again, but there was no other sign of life. Beyond, the
country southward rolled away, gray and bare, sterile and desolate.

The horseman looked most often into the south. His glances into the
north were few and brief, but his eyes dwelled long on the lonely land
that lay beyond the yellow current. His was an attractive face. He was
young, only a boy, but the brow was broad and high, and the eyes, grave
and steady, were those of one who thought much. He was clad completely
in buckskin, and his hat was wide of brim. A rifle held in one hand lay
across the pommel of his saddle and there were weapons in his belt. Two
light, but warm, blankets, folded closely, were tied behind him. The
tanned face and the lithe, strong figure showed a wonderful degree of
health and strength.

Several hours passed and the horseman rode on steadily though slowly.
His main direction was toward the west, and always he kept the river two
or three hundred yards on his left. He never failed to search the plains
on either side, but chiefly in the south, with the eager, intent gaze
that missed nothing. But the lonesome gray land, cut by the coiling
yellow river, still rolled before him, and its desolation and chill
struck to his heart. It was the depth of the Texan winter, and, at
times, icy gusts, born in far mountains, swept across the plains.

The rider presently turned his horse toward the river and stopped on a
low bluff overlooking it. His face showed a tinge of disappointment, as
if his eyes failed to find objects for which they sought. Again he gazed
long and patiently into the south, but without reward.