By noon they calculated that they had covered eighteen miles, which was not bad, considering the nature of the ground they had traversed. With the rising of the sun it grew warmer, and, seeking a sheltered spot, they dismounted and partook of their midday meal. They had still twenty-six miles to go, but hoped to cover that distance before nightfall. "I wonder how the garrison at San Antonio is making out," said Dan, as they sat eating. "Like as not a good many of the soldiers went home for Christmas," returned Stover. "To my mind, it's a great pity that Sam Houston ain't succeeded in organising the army as he intended. He seems to be the only leader who thinks that Santa Anna will come over here with a big force to knock the spots out of us. All the others are quarrelling over politics and places." "I don't think it's quite as bad as that," laughed Dan. "But it seems to me they ought to get an army together." "The leaders ought to act in concert, Dan. If they don't, their soldiers are licked afore they go into battle," remarked the old frontiersman, sagely. "What Texas needs most of all is one first-class leader, whom all obey." And in this speech Stover came very near to telling the exact truth. The meal finished, they were soon in the saddle again, and less than an hour later they came upon the trail leading directly into San Antonio. There was a hill of rocks on one side and a belt of timber on the other, with here and there a water-course to be crossed. So far, nothing had been seen of any game but a deer that was too far away to be brought down, and a few hares, which neither took the trouble to shoot. But now Poke Stover called attention to a flock of wild turkeys resting along the rocks not a hundred yards distant. "A fine shot, Dan!" he whispered. "We can make a good trade with 'em, down in Bexar." "That's so," answered the boy. "I'm ready to shoot when you are." "Let us go into the timber, and come up in front of 'em," suggested the old frontiersman. "The rocks kind o' hide 'em from this p'int." They dismounted and tied their mustangs to a tree. Then, with guns ready for use, they crept off in a semicircle, coming up to within sixty yards of the turkeys before they were discovered. "Fire!" cried Stover, and bang! bang! went the two guns, one directly after the other. They had loaded with large shot, and five turkeys fell, two killed outright and the others badly wounded. Rushing in, Stover quickly caught the wounded ones and wrung their necks. [Illustration: "'THAT'S WHAT I CALL A PRETTY GOOD HAUL!' CRIED DAN, ENTHUSIASTICALLY."] "That's what I call a pretty good haul," cried Dan, enthusiastically. "It's not bad, lad, although I've seen better. I wish I could have gotten a second shot at 'em. We might have----" The old frontiersman broke off short. "What's that?" "It's a horse's hoofs on the trail," answered Dan. "Somebody is coming this way."