The Lost Gold of the Montezumas Part 26

Nearing the gate-way was a train of large wagons, and on either side and in the rear of them rode mounted riflemen.

"Reinforcements, too!" exclaimed Crockett, as he strode forward to the side of Travis.

Colonel Bowie was already out beyond the wall, scrutinizing the approaching train and its guard.

"Not a quarter as many men as we needed," he remarked, in a low, foreboding tone. "I hope there are more coming."

On rolled the wagons, while cheer after cheer went up from the garrison, to be answered as heartily by the new arrivals.

"Keep right on," shouted Travis to the drivers. "Halt in front of the church."

The last pair of wheels was in the gate-way when galloping past them came a half-naked rider.

"Whoop!" he yelled. "Red Wolf want Big Knife. Castro horse dead.

Santa Anna come!"

"All right!" called out Travis. "Come this way. Bowie, bring him in.

Men, go on unloading. Tally all there is."

Down from his panting pony dropped the young Lipan, and his eager report required few questions to make it clear. Either his father had not been so well mounted or else he had been too heavy a weight for a long race. His horse had given out entirely a few miles from the fort, and Red Wolf had ridden on alone. All the officers of the rangers had gathered to hear, and when the report was completed they looked at each other with serious faces.

"It's just about as we expected, after all," said Travis. "I'm glad there are no Comanches with them. If Castro is right, there are over five thousand of them. A thousand more or less won't make much difference. They're about four days' march from us, I should say, but the lancers could get here sooner. Most likely they will."

A rugged-looking ranger stood before him, touching a ragged hat-brim.

"Well, Sergeant Daly," said Travis, "how do you find the cargo?"

"Bully, far as it goes!" responded the sergeant. "I reckon it gives us rations for about two weeks. Pretty good lot of rifle powder. Not so much cannon powder and grape-shot as we'd ought to have. No solid shot to speak of, but there's some. Forty spare rifles, and I wish we had men for 'em. But these yer new men are all prime fellers, and we can foot up one hundred and forty good shots, all told."

"We ought to have at least three times as many," said Travis. "Every man is worth his weight in gold just now."

"The trouble is," remarked Bowie, "Houston hasn't had time yet to use those Spanish dollars. He will, though. What we must do is to try and hold the fort till Austin's riflemen get here. Every day 'll count.

Santa Anna is a slow marcher."

"You're mistaken thar," exclaimed Crockett. "If his Greasers could fight as well as they kin walk, we'd be gone up sure!"

The next duties related to the unloading of the wagons and to all the information that could be obtained from the new men. Even while Travis was talking with them, however, an hour or so later, a hand touched his arm, and he turned to look into the face of Castro.

"What is it, chief?" he asked.

"Close gate," said Castro. "Load big gun. Lancer! Bring pony in."

"They mean to make a dash for our corral, do they?" replied Travis, and orders for the care of the horses of the garrison went out at once.

It would not do to lose them all just now, and they, at least, would have abundant rations within the enclosure. One of the best of them was turned over to Castro in place of his used-up pony, and another as good was given to Red Wolf.

While this was going on, Bowie had been busy with the spare rifles that had just arrived, and now he made his appearance, carrying two weapons that were more ornamental than the rest, for both were silver mounted.

"Travis," he said, "this is for the chief, and this is the one I promised Red Wolf."

"They've earned 'em," exclaimed Crockett. "Give 'em a first-rate outfit. Hope they'll kill a grist of Greasers."

Colonel Travis himself presented the rifles, but his words were few.

Castro took his own and examined it all over.

"Ugh!" he said. "Heap shoot. Travis kill Mexican with big gun. Red Wolf take rifle. Come!"

Red Wolf's eyes had been glittering with delight. Never before had he heard of an Indian boy of his age owning a really first-cla.s.s rifle with all its accoutrements of wiping-stick, ramrod, powder-horn, and bullet-pouch. Those were the days of flintlocks, and the long-barrelled shooting-irons did not need any "cap-box" to go with them.

He was hardly expected to say much, but he made out to tell the colonel,--

"Red Wolf shoot a heap. Mexican lose hair. Wipe out Comanche."

As he finished speaking, however, Bowie himself laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Red Wolf go with his father now," he said. "Come back to Big Knife.

Chief, let him come as soon as you can."

He had understood a sentence that Castro had uttered in his own tongue with its accompanying "sign."

"Chief send boy," replied Castro. "Go now. Travis fight a heap."

The two Lipans were upon the backs of their fresh mustangs the next minute, and they rode out of the gate as if some errand of importance hurried them.

"Reckon they think we've got our work cut out for us," said Crockett.

"They've seen the Mexican army," replied Bowie, "and they know just what's coming. So do we, but we mustn't say anything to discourage the men."

A watcher at a loop-hole saw Castro and Red Wolf wheel around the corner of the wall and gallop westward, but before he could report the direction they had taken the garrison was startled by the roar of a cannon from one of the southern embrasures. There had been a reason for the course taken by the Lipans.

"Who fired that gun?" shouted Travis, angrily. "Who fired without orders?"

"I did," came promptly back from Sergeant Daly. "I had the best kind of a bead on that crowd of lancers. It was only a four-pound shot, but it ploughed right into 'em."

"Not another charge is to be wasted," replied Travis. "We need every kernel. We were none too quick about the corral, though."

"Travis," said Bowie, quietly, "our time's about come. Houston must send us more men or we can't so much as man the walls."

It was a matter of course that a strong body of cavalry had been sent on in advance of the invading army. No doubt there had been an idea of striking the rebellious Texans at every possible point. The lancers, however, had not met with anything to strike at, and all they now could do, apparently, was to reconnoitre the fort. It was in a spirit of entirely empty bravado that they had approached so near or else they had forgotten that the Alamo had any artillery. They had at last halted, while their commander deliberately scanned the post and its surroundings through his field-gla.s.s.

Bang! went the four-pounder, and Daley's aim had been first-rate.

"_Caramba_!" roared the colonel. "My baggage mule! My equipments!

Santa Maria! My cigarettes!"

Over went a fine mule, certainly, as the four pounds of iron arrived, but not because of anything that prevented him from getting up at once and braying. Upon his patient back, rising above the panniers that adorned his flanks, had been a load more large than heavy. It was this hump of varied luxury and usefulness into which the sergeant's wasteful shot had ploughed.

Mexico had not lost even so much as a mule, but the ground was strewn with cigarettes and other merchandise, and the lancer force had been warned that they were in front of a battery.